


In His Head

by PaintedGlass



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Daydreaming, Dreams, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Long live the Goblin King, Power Play, Silliness and smut, Teasing, Voyeurism, the usual really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedGlass/pseuds/PaintedGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jareth has mastered the art of magic, and of casually interfering with mortal dreams over the years. Now it's Sarah's turn to go meddling in the Goblin King's most private thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Risky Business

The dreams of mortals are precious things. They are the projections of everything from our idle, whimsical thoughts, to our greatest desires. They're the place the last of our dying wishes go to shine their brightest, even when all last hope of actually fulfilling them has faded. Their power is at its strongest in the young, when magic is at its most real, and before the world has taught us that _anything_ is not, in fact, possible. There are limits to our perceptions and our abilities – but never in our dreams. They are the greatest gifts we give to ourselves, and as such, they are to be treasured. The Goblin King knew this better than anyone.

Keeper of memories, granter of wishes, he had felt the pull, the _power_ of many a young mortal's most heartfelt desire. Magical creatures such as he fed upon those dreams; he drank of them like the sweetest wine, and embraced the new rush of power that swelled within him. A single human child's belief in him could keep him hale and hearty for longer than their brief mortal lifetimes would allow them to witness. More than once, as a repayment of sorts, he had offered a gift to a youth he had deemed special – stronger than the rest, somehow. The dreams they exuded called to him the most. The offer was a simple one: all of their dreams made real, in return for their continued belief in him. Love, fear, hatred – whatever the chosen youth held in their hearts and minds for him, as long as he was remembered, the Goblin King would only grow in strength – and all for such a small payment. Some children had made a bargain with him without a second thought, greedy for all the riches and impossible magic he offered. Others had been too afraid to accept such power.

Only a single one had dared to tell him that he held no such power in the first place.

Sarah Williams. The power within her dreams, her sheer imagination would have been enough to keep him strong and youthful for centuries. To Jareth's great dismay, the girl also possessed the strength of mind to realise it. There would be no deal, no welcome boost to his magical abilities, when she had stripped him of his authority and asserted her own. She had defeated him, and even weeks – and, yes, damn the gods, even _months_ – later, Jareth had still not forgiven her for it. He sulked, brooded and schemed, but still, in time, he forced himself to move on. There were, of course, plenty of other dreamers to be discovered, and so many more sources of power to be harnessed. Eventually, the wise and powerful Goblin King thought no more on the dream that had gotten away – the headstrong girl who had dared defy him. It was her loss, truly. By turning down his most generous offer, cutting him off from her power, she had also denied herself the chance to live her dreams – something surely only a fool would do.

Never for even a single moment had Jareth believed that she would find her way into _his_ dreams instead. By turning down his gift, she had given him one of her own without quite meaning to. It was an unwelcome gift – a curse – that Jareth was most eager to be rid of.

You could say, if you were in a particularly playful mood – and the gods knew that Jareth himself was not, as of that afternoon – that the king who knew everything had never even _dreamed_ such a thing to be possible. It simply had not occurred to him that, without even knowing the limit of her own power, a mere mortal could hold any sway over his own private thoughts. Of course, he had known the girl held a special strength – any human who had the courage and fortitude to best his labyrinth was bound to make him sit up and take notice – but she had gone home. Aboveground, the realm where technology was king and true magic had all but died outside of wishful thoughts, she should have been powerless in any way that truly mattered. It had been a grievous, but at the time, wholly understandable error on his part.

Certainly, she had the strength needed to summon her pesky little friends to chat to once in a while, but Jareth had suspected that even that would fade as the years went on and she grew older. A teenage girl reaching womanhood would have precious little time in her life for a mangy rodent, a walking shagpile, and your average garden-variety, snivelling hobgoblin. At first, Jareth was proven right. As Sarah Williams grew and grew, the last traces of the Underground that clung to her seemed to shrink to almost nothing. She called out her friends' names less and less, and Jareth's not at all – they had not parted on the best of terms. Oh, certainly, he had felt the occasional prickle of magic wherever he was concerned – a hushed, meaningful whisper of ' _him_ ' or ' _that_ guy' in reference – but Sarah had never dared speak his name aloud. It was a minor annoyance, to be deemed so unimportant, but he was done with the girl, and so he allowed himself to ignore it. With hindsight, he supposed he had let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, spending his days finding other bones to pick at. A man, even an all but immortal one, could be forgiven for allowing himself to drift along the river of time.

In all, it took roughly four years, six months and eleven days following Sarah Williams' sudden departure from the Underground for her true power to manifest itself in the most embarrassing way.

It began as a day of rest like any other – a glorious Sunday, and the one day of Jareth's hectic week he insisted on enjoying total relaxation, and a goblin-free castle. There were absolutely no exceptions to this last rule, and the grinning Goblin King took an almost perverse pleasure in patrolling the silent and empty walkways of the place he called home, rousing any stubborn stragglers with a wave of his hand, and a sudden and smelly Sunday morning soak in the Bog. Even a king is allowed the odd moment of gleeful whimsy, and on that particular morning Jareth felt most whimsical indeed. As he shipped off another wailing goblin to the Bog with a crack of his riding crop and a cheery whistle, he started to consider indulging in another afternoon of his most secret and guilty pleasure.

His fascination with the strange world Aboveground had resulted in the procurement of one of the largest television screens in existence, along with a top of the line VCR and a slew of VHS cassettes of varying entertainment quality. Though Jareth had soon grown weary of the cutesy and colourful range of Disney branded films – a godforsaken realm of utter shite, where the heroes always triumphed and the villains always lost, and _poorly_ – he took pleasure in locking himself away to enjoy various American action, drama, and comedy films. He enjoyed the soundtracks – the music scene Aboveground was so different to that of his realm – the unsubtle love scenes, the fighting and the humour, but most of all the glimpses he was given into a strange world beyond his reckoning. One recent viewing had been a title called Risky Business, and Jareth found himself put in mind of a certain scene as he walked his lonely halls. In the film, the toothsome protagonist had found himself alone at home as well, and had celebrated with the most ridiculous dance, whilst wearing only a shirt and his underthings. It had been a great source of amusement.

Oh, to be alone and free. Jareth could relate to the protagonist's excitement. He pictured himself then, shed of his tall boots, heavy cape and tight breeches, skidding along the stone floors of his castle. He saw the way his shirt would billow out around his spread arms, the subtle forward thrust of his crotch as he slid, his entire body a show of worship to the gods of dance and debauchery on this day of true relaxation. The thought made Jareth pause in his stride and grin, tapping at one sharp canine with the smooth leather tip of his riding crop. It was a ridiculous, yet wholly enjoyable scene, painted in vivid colour in his own private daydream, never to be acted upon – and especially not as the sharp tingle of a summons came over his body. A human had spoken the name of the Goblin King, and as always, Jareth was bound to heed the call.

With only a brief flash of annoyance at being called upon on his precious day off, Jareth reached inside himself to summon his powers of transformation; though he could travel at whim, his owl form was but an extra touch of magic to unsettle those brave enough to speak of him. To his great surprise, Jareth found himself torn from one world and dragged into the next before he had the chance to sprout a single feather. There was a sudden crackle of magic, a rush of cold air around his legs, and then the bewildered Goblin King was stumbling into the bright, electric lights of the Aboveground with not a clue as to who had pulled him there.

It took a dizzying few seconds for this new world to come into focus, and in that time Jareth heard more than one awe-filled gasp. It placated him some to know that, even without intending it, he had still managed to make his customary imposing entrance. The gasps came from behind him, and so with an attempted menacing swirl of his cape, Jareth turned to face his audience, be they friend or foe. To his greater shock, he found he recognised the dark-haired goddess standing there, wide-eyed and pale before her mirror. She was a ghost of his past, reminding him of the passage of time. Only a hint of the girl who had bested him still clung to this woman's face, but there was no mistaking her eyes.

“Sarah?” he blurted – _gasped_ – before he could stop himself. It was most unexpected, and most unbecoming of a king. Jareth cleared his throat and made another attempt to throw back his cape – and where _was_ the blasted thing anyway? He settled for tossing back his head and staring down at his unexpected summoner. “Why have you called me here?” he asked, seeking indignation rather than petulance with his tone, and on the whole succeeding. “Are we finally bored with our dreary mortal existence? Do you wish to change your mind? I'm afraid it's too late for such things, my dear Sarah. Such a pity.” He could almost taste the malice he left his last words marinading in, and yet Sarah seemed almost unaffected.

The changes in her were almost unsettling. She was older – almost twenty by now, he guessed – and beautiful in a way that startled him, with her thick, dark hair, cool green eyes, and those full, dusky lips that already took up far too much of his attention. Jareth didn't yet dare to let his gaze move any lower, content to look upon her face as, in contrast, she drank all of him in. Even in her shock, there was still that unwavering sense of confidence in her, and the bold way she looked at him made Jareth very much want to return the favour. Before he had the opportunity, he found his attention stolen by the mirror she was standing before, spying movement. Within the mirror's glassy depths, he recognised a congregation of familiar faces from his realm, all staring at him in slack-jawed surprise. Jareth cocked his head at them with a sneer.

“And what are _you_ miserable lot doing here?” he went on. “Don't you all have holes to crawl back into? What are you all staring at me like that for?”

The snickers had started up by then, Sir Ratbag, the giant carpet, Hogbrain, and a handful of soldier goblins all doing their best to suppress their laughter.

The lush mouth that had caught his eye turned up into a grin. “I think the more pressing question, Goblin King, is: what are you _wearing_?”

Sarah's voice was fuller than he remembered it, of an almost musical quality, slightly husky, but in a pleasing way. Her words were soft, a distraction, but all at once the realisation struck him _hard_. Jareth felt the breeze somewhere around his calves again, and he looked down, dreading what he might find. It was worse than he expected. Somehow, he had been dragged here directly from the recesses of his mind – and now, as he had been in his thoughts, he found himself a little under-dressed. Even when not tucked into his breeches, his billowing white poet's shirt came down to almost mid-thigh, but there was no shirt in all the known world that could hide the fact that he was practically bare underneath it.

As in his daydream, his feet were clad in long, thin white stockings that could almost be called socks – a la Risky Business – but his own choice of underwear was far skimpier than had been given approval to be shown on film. Though he would remain thankful that he had even seen fit to wear the things when he chose so often to go without, the tight yet flimsy material covering the family jewels were cut far higher upon the leg – and upon the arse – for decent company.

For the first time in perhaps a century, Jareth felt the tell-tale heat of a royal flush heating his noble cheeks. Though such a startling scenario was made to be handled with as much dignity as a king could muster, there was precious little to be had with his bare thighs on show and a cool breeze tickling his nether regions. He was not a shy man, but anyone faced with such an _intimate_ audience of assorted creatures might have undergone a little shrinkage right there – a fact he was glad the tails of his shirt just about managed to cover. An audible gasp escaped the blushing Goblin King, and it was then that the true laughter began – and clearly their giggling ringleader had taught them a few Aboveground songs of her own.

The hobgoblin – Hedgewort – pointed a gnarled, stubby finger. “I see London …”

The fox-rat captain picked up the chant with a yip of triumph. “I see France …”

The rug-monster lifted a giant, hairy paw. “Ludo see kingy's …”

With one brief look at each other, the goblins piped up with pure, unadulterated glee. “ _Dance, magic, dance_!”

With a flick of his wrist, the humiliated Goblin King was locked away in his private bedchambers, the last echoes of laughter still ringing in his ears as he spelled his regular attire back into place. His face was on fire, his mind a whirl of subjects who must be put on trial for treason and various vile punishments that must be put in place to put the world to rights again. To be seen at anything less than his best was an outrage, and whilst he had no doubt that at least _one_ person in that bedroom liked what she saw, given the look in her eyes, there was nothing in this realm or the next that would make him tolerate being laughed at.

He had no clue as to what had happened, no idea as to how a mortal girl – woman – could have had the power to summon him without his permission, let alone how she'd managed to pull him from his embarrassing daydream. His dreams – even those of the lazy daydream variety – were his own, private and never to be seen by anyone else. He was no mere puppet, for his thoughts to be paraded against his will for the entertainment of others – least of all the smirking girl – woman – who had already bested and humiliated him. No, he would not dance for her, no matter how charming her smile had been when she had looked upon him.

His appearance had been unintended – he realised that now as his mind began to turn and to study, twisting the entire encounter back and forth under his scrutiny as though it were one of his crystals. She was surprised to see him; it was possible that the girl – that wretched _woman_ – did not even know until the very same moment that _he_ did, that she held such power within herself. Such a power was unthinkable – or at least it had been until only a few humiliating minutes ago. The consequences could be enormous. There were a hundred questions on his mind, the most pressing of which being how to stop the entire mess from happening again. He had to find out, striding through his castle with tenacious purpose – and woe betide any stragglers he found lurking amongst the stone corridors _this_ time, in his current temper. None could know of this. He had advisers, servants, flunkies who would fall over themselves to do his bidding, but he could not risk the humiliation. Finding a solution was a task he trusted only himself with.

At last, he found the room he was looking for. The irked Goblin King spent the entirety of his day of rest locked away in his private library, sitting cross-legged upon the highest shelf and poring over tome after tome of lore and rules and spells. Each one ended up read and discarded beneath him, tossed to the floor without care as he moved onto the next. By the time evening rolled around – a time Jareth registered with only an impatient flick of his wrist to light the room to read by – he had built up quite a pile. None of the books held the answer he needed. The frantic need to know, to understand how his power had been reduced to all but nothing, did naught to alleviate his growing headache.

Tossing the latest thick volume aside – and wincing at the solid _thunk_ the book made upon his stone tiles and upon his aching head – Jareth slid down from his bookcase, his magic cushioning his heels as he landed upon the floor. He knew he'd been at it for far too long; his eyes throbbed within his skull, and his vision began to swim and dance before him. Spelling a clock face into the air before him, he grimaced at the time. He could toy with the hours, he knew, to give himself more of the day to read by, but his whole body sagged under the exhaustion of it all. It wasn't every day the world as he knew it was turned upon its head. It wasn't every Sunday afternoon that a mere mortal proved her power to be just as great as his.

There would be no more research that day – no answers to soothe his troubled mind. The day was done and darkness had already rolled in. Rolling his sore shoulders, Jareth heaved a deep sigh. There was only one thing for it: bed. With but a gesture of his hand, he stood at the centre of his grand bedchamber, staring down at silken sheets and velvet coverlets with a vague sense of unease tugging at the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it had only been a one off; just because she had seen him in one of his unguarded moments did not necessarily mean she could see inside them all. Regardless, he had no choice – he felt too weary right then to stay awake indefinitely. It was time to sleep.

Perchance to dream.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I promised a little something this month, and it's the beginning of a brand new story. If you've read my other stuff, you know what to expect :P
> 
> Given the events of this year, I seriously considered stopping writing for this fandom after the current story was done. It's been heartbreaking for a lot of people, I know. Bowie's work has always inspired me, and continues to do so even now, so I wanted to keep the love for it alive. I don't know how long this will end up being, but I'll be adding to it at irregular intervals while I work on my second novel. It's going to be silly and sexy, and I hope you enjoy it. Long live the Goblin King :) <3


	2. A real hit at parties

Sarah glowered at herself in her bathroom mirror, then managed to glare a little harder when she spotted the dark crease that had formed between her eyebrows. It was already well on its way to becoming a permanent wrinkle, thanks to her own stubborn nature. She had still been a child when that obstinate groove first made its appearance. Her father had tried to use it to his advantage to coax her out of her worst sulking fits. 'If that thing gets any deeper, we'll be able to plant veggies in it,' he'd had the habit of saying, before getting her giggling over the potatoes he claimed were growing behind her ears. Sarah's current expression lightened some at the memory. She hadn't heard her dad say that in years. Toby had grown up into a relatively mellow preschooler, proving that the family's penchant for drama – in every sense of the word – ran solely on Sarah's mother's side. At the age of twenty, Sarah liked to think she'd put most of her own bratty tantrums behind her. It made it all the more frustrating that a single encounter with the Goblin King – the man who had helped to put her on that new path to maturity – had the power to make her feel like kicking and screaming all over again.

It had taken almost three exhausting hours to persuade her friends from the Underground to leave her alone with time to think. It was all well and good to make fun of their king in a realm where he held little to no real power, but back home in the Underground there would be summons despite his highness' request for solitude that day, with dire consequences sure to follow. Only Sir Didymus, in his own kindly way, expressed more concern for the lady Sarah's well-being than his own. He didn't want her caught up in the fray, despite said fray being one of her own making. After all, she had been the one to speak Jareth's name – an error Sarah swore she would not be repeating any time soon. She refused to acknowledge that her skittish laughter had been only the first of her reactions to finding a half-naked Goblin King standing in her bedroom. She thanked her lucky stars he'd seemed too occupied with his own predicament to notice her blushes. The mirror before her divulged that the damned frown line of hers was back in full force. Some habits died hard, it seemed, or not at all.

By the age of ten or twelve, she had already realised that her private thoughts and fantasies ran along a slightly different path to those of her friends. She knew that she would feel much more at home as the fabled heroine in one of her storybooks than she would as the star of one of the latest teen movies; she had always been much more sixteenth century, than Sixteen Candles. Though she had sometimes chosen to confide in those friends, sharing whatever idle fancies filled her head, there was always another, deeper layer hidden beneath, where her true secrets could live and grow, and where only she could reach them. There were no sprites or faeries living at the bottom of her garden, any baby knew that, but in her private world of make-believe, the leavings of their miniature civilisation were scattered all over the forest near her home. You just had to know where to look. That whimsical sliver of her soul could only be set free when she was certain she was alone, wrapped up in the richly woven fantasy worlds of her favourite authors, and in her own painstakingly crafted costumes and plays.

It was only at the age of sixteen, when she found herself pulled into a real world of magic – a place that she had foolishly wished her brother away to, and that no one would ever believe truly existed – that she came to realise that some fantasies might be better off staying buried for good. It was easier on her sanity, that way.

If she'd had the time, money and inclination to see a good therapist, Sarah guessed that he or she would have told her that the whole thing had been some grand delusion, something to be kept at bay with hours of talking about her feelings, and handfuls of mood-stabilising drugs. Perhaps it was the last vestige of a broken and troubled childhood, where her parent's divorce had sent her tumbling down deep rabbit holes of her own making, the entire Underground a flimsy safety net woven from fear and fantasy, for when the real world became too much to take. It had been over four years since the time she had walked the confounding paths of the labyrinth, watched over by a host of strange creatures, unearthly orange skies, and a bewitching and unforgettable king. To return there in any way was to cling onto the past, busying herself with childish games of make-believe instead of facing up to adulthood. The only problem was, she knew that no amount of psychotherapy or pills would be able to change the hard facts: it was all real, and it apparently wasn't going away any time soon. _He_ wasn't going away any time soon.

She had spent the best part of her teenage years trying so hard just to forget. She had _wasted_ most of the past four years trying to quash her yearning for the weird and the wondrous, the strange part of herself that yearned to burn its brightest. She had done all she could to make herself 'normal', putting aside her dolls and her costumes to concentrate on college choices and overall life choices. Her guilty get-togethers with the creatures she had befriended had been confined only to summer and winter breaks, when that memory of magic had been too strong to resist. She had endured hours of soul searching in her bedroom mirror, before it all became too much and she had to call upon her friends as a distraction. Unfortunately, that tiny glimpse they gave her of the Underground always whet her appetite for more. On that particular day, her damned curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. It seemed like the more she tried to distance herself from the Underground and its keeper, the more determined that magical world was to drag her right back in. The memories and bonds she had made there were too strong to just fade away. Now, she had accidentally reopened a door, _his_ door – one that she had always sworn would remain closed.

Though a tiny part of her couldn't help but hope to one day meet the enigmatic Goblin King a second time, she had never actually expected him to appear – and especially not in just his underwear. From the look of confusion she'd seen in his pale blue eyes – eyes that she promised herself would _not_ haunt her daydreams, the way they sometimes threatened to – he was as bewildered by their brief reunion as she. His sudden and quite startling appearance back into her life had given her little time to process a mess of unwelcome emotions, ranging from confusion and anger, to the much less acceptable exhilaration, and yes, even a little, shameful lust. It was that last emotion that bothered her most of all.

It took her a long time to realise that the sharp pain she felt then wasn't her overtaxed mind begging for mercy, but her poor, abused mouth; in her distraction, she had been scrubbing at her teeth for well over her usual three or so minutes, and with a grim determination that might have eroded stone. Her clenched fist flew open, her whitened knuckles darkening back to their usual pink. When her toothbrush clattered into the bathroom sink, the foamy bristles held bright red flecks of her own blood.

“ _Shit_.”

Sarah scooped a handful of water from under the running faucet and rinsed out her mouth, wincing at the coldness against her lacerated gums. It was yet another thing to blame on the Goblin King. Just seeing him, even just for those brief couple of minutes, had been enough to turn her world on its head once more.

Of course, she remembered the scowling, sneering thief who had taken her brother; that cruel captor of innocent children. There hadn't been a day over the past four years where she'd fully been able to forget his piercing gaze, wild hair and elaborate make-up, and those tight, _tight_ pants. Even the ridiculousness of the moment hadn't fully robbed him of that ineffable presence he seemed to carry with him in every step that he took, his majestic poise, every slight gesture of his pale hands a needlessly elegant performance in its own right. He had been every bit the king that she remembered, the one who ruled without question over all he surveyed – all except her.

He had no power over her, just as she had once stood tall to tell him. She had dragged him into her world with just a simple call of his name, pulled him from … well, whatever the hell he'd been doing in that outfit, and there hadn't been a damned thing he could've done about it. Before his humiliation had forced him to disappear – and that in itself was no small surprise, that _he_ would flee from _her_ – he had made no scathing last remark, and offered up no dark vows of vengeance for her audacity. For all these years, calling upon the Goblin King by name was, in her eyes, to give him the permission he needed to turn her life upside down at his whim. However, this time, unlike the foolish wish she had made as a teen, she had held all of the power. It would've been stupid to deny just how much she liked it.

She stared at her reflection for ageless seconds as she contemplated that last, short meeting – that _too_ short meeting. She wondered if there would ever be another – oh, but not if _she_ could help it, obviously. It would be even more stupid to put herself through all that again. Her heartbeat seemed to accelerate, in outright defiance of her denials. No way. She couldn't sit through that wild roller-coaster of emotions again … could she? Her stomach gave a dangerous little twist.

_Oh, fuck it. Why not?_

She watched as her reflection parted its lips with clear purpose. “Jareth,” it said, and that was all. There was nothing more, save for the slightest echo of her own voice. She wasn't surprised that the Goblin King did not make a second appearance that day. It was probably just as well – in a plain black tank-top and faded powder-blue pyjama shorts, she was hardly dressed for receiving royalty, that night. She watched the mirror sneer back at her before she snapped off the bathroom light.

“Asshole,” she muttered, more to her herself than to the absent king.

 _Jareth_. The name had seemed to lack its usual pleasurable cadence, thrown back as flat as it had been by the bathroom tiles. There was no wonder in that word, no spark of passion or taste of magic upon her lips within those two cold and stony syllables. Earlier that day, when Hoggle had grumbled about _His Royal Halfwit_ 's latest orders, Sarah had virtually spat out his true name without thinking, caught up in the guilty satisfaction of a good old bitchfest. It had made her lips tingle and her lungs itch, her chest lifting and swelling to hitherto unknown proportions. The second she spoke that name, those two simple sounds that felt so strange on her tongue, some small spark within her had flared to life. It almost felt like a hand, one of enormous power, had reached out to seize him, surging up from deep within her body to make its claim over a king. That feeling of unworldly strength was something she could definitely get used to, if only she knew how the hell she'd managed to tap into it in the first place.

It was a puzzle that continued to niggle at her long after she climbed into bed, haunting her the way _he_ always had. The last thing she recalled before sleep found her was the pale and perfectly-sculpted face she had almost managed to keep at bay for four long years, the sweeping hair and sinful little smile; those curious blue eyes that glittered like shards of ice, yet held more seductive heat than the midday sun. That face, and the two simple syllables that, together, might just hold the power to bring her world crumbling down around her once more.

 _Jareth_.

She had dreamed of her time spent in the labyrinth more than once. There was still the occasional nightmare, where she found herself trapped forever in the blackest of oubliettes, or held back by an endless sea of disembodied hands until her time to save her baby brother had run out. She dreamed of failure, of panic, and would more often than not wake in a cold sweat, thankful that in real life, her journey had not taken such a bleak turn. More often, she dreamed of that strange time spent disengaged even further from reality: that glistening fever dream within a waking nightmare where she had been dressed like a princess, and she had danced with a king. After seeing said king in the flesh again only that day, it seemed only the natural path for her thoughts to take.

She floated through the murky grey sea of sleep for a while, and when she landed, she was in a pale and glittering ballroom, and she was not alone. Sarah felt her eyes widen in recognition. It was near enough the same party she had tumbled into so many years ago, after eating a certain enchanted piece of fruit: a sinister masquerade of grotesque and grinning faces surrounded her; heavy undertones of liquor and lust darkened their roaring laughter and stained every step of their ghoulish dance. She was accepted into their midst without question, though she retained some vague awareness that she was still dressed only in her pyjamas. She blushed at the exposure, but doubted it really mattered; there was more than enough bare skin on display as the crowd swirled and closed in around her, eager to welcome the naïve newcomer.

Behind the safety of their elaborate masks, the other guests enjoyed a certain degree of intrigue and anonymity that Sarah found herself longing for. Just as it had back when she was a teenager, she felt her stomach tense and tangle into knots, a mess of desire and trepidation. She envied these strange creatures, and longed to know the face behind every mask. She longed to float among them with just as much grace and strange beauty, but dared not think of what the consequences might be. There was already something amiss about this particular dream, and the longer she remained in it, the clearer the issue became – literally.

It occurred to her then that this was the first time she had ever truly _seen_ this ballroom. Before, every shimmering chandelier, each gauzy white drape and flickering candle had possessed a fuzzy, dreamlike glow, awash in the fluid dance of magic. Even the tall, polished mirrors had been veiled somehow, trapped beneath some filmy layer that gave everything a softer, almost surreal quality. Even during her time in the labyrinth, that impromptu waltz, she had never dared to speak in that not-quite dream-place. Somehow, she had sensed that her words wouldn't taste quite right there; they would linger, heavy and greasy on her tongue, like the remains of an overly rich meal. It was all wrong, in some itching way she couldn't quite place, and she knew – knew – that it wasn't quite real.

Now, every surface of silver and gold shone brighter, and the chandeliers above would change their rich sparkle every time she shifted her head. She could feel the coolness of the floor tiles beneath her bare toes and, when she rocked her feet, the smooth texture of the stone pushed back against her soles, every weathered crack and seam pressing into her flesh. As vivid as her dreams tended to be, she didn't think that even her mind was capable of such fine details. It left only one, worrying possibility.

Without taking her eyes from the nearest revellers – a beautiful older couple with matching long, silver hair, and ornate volto masks – Sarah found her hands creeping up from her sides to fold over her stomach. She gave the tender spot just above her left hip a vicious pinch, hissing in air through her teeth when the immediate pain that bloomed did not show signs of leaving her any time soon. Two thoughts hit her simultaneously: she seemed to already be awake and aware, and she was _still_ _there –_ a confused guest once more in Jareth's kingdom. Before she had time for more troubling thoughts, a firm hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

Her unexpected dance partner caught her mid-spin, one large hand spanning her lower back as the other seized hold of her trembling fingers. “What,” Jareth hissed, in what must have been a monumental effort to keep his voice low, “are you doing here?”

His pallor was even whiter than she remembered – not surprising, really, as during their last brief meeting he had been blushing – but his eyes blazed with cold fire. To his credit though, he seemed to be taking the utmost care not to let his rage reflect in his handling of her. The hands that held and subtly turned her were gentle, his dance steps elegant and effortless. It was only after she'd taken several drunken, stumbling steps just to keep up with him that Sarah realised she had placed her hand upon his shoulder of her own free will. Her fingers smoothed over the soft, dark blue fabric of his jacket without quite meaning to. She fell into step with him soon after, and felt an even more unexpected rush of pleasure at that easy sync the two of them seemed to have. If it wasn't for the confusion in one partner's eyes and the dull anger in the other's, one might never have guessed it had been over four years since their last ill-fated waltz. When she didn't reply right away, he gave an impatient twitch of his eyebrows, pale eyes wide and expectant. It instantly put Sarah's back up. What right did he have to be angry at her this time? She had been sleeping; it wasn't like she could have called on him a second time.

“I was hoping you'd tell me the same thing,” she hissed back, unwilling to let that piercing stare intimidate her.

The fingers clutching her own tightened marginally. “I will warn you only once, Sarah: I am in _no_ mood for games. How did you come to be here? You _will_ tell me, or-”

“Or _what_?” she spat at him. “You'll throw another snake, or … or a messed up cleaning patrol, or a whole army at me? You'll toss your little cloak, or roll those precious balls of yours in my face?” It was a poor choice of words, ones she would cringe over later, but in the moment she was too incensed to let it embarrass her. “'You're not going to scare me, or trick me into anything, and this time – _this time_ , you lousy _fuck_ – you don't have my baby brother to steal away.”

His eyes narrowed at the reminder. “Perhaps not, but there are all kinds of unpleasant places I could put _you_.” He did not miss a beat of the dance, losing not a shred of his elegant form, but he began to push her harder. The sweeping turns they took grew dizzying, pulling at her head and at her stomach as the Goblin King did his utmost to unsettle her. He was the only man she had ever danced with, but she had never imagined a waltz could be quite so _vicious_. The couples around them became nothing more than the odd discernible splotch in a swirling palette of colour. Her only point of focus was him. There was a fierce determination in those eyes of his, and it was almost enough to hypnotise her. She couldn't look away, trapped in his gaze and by the subtle strength of his hands, thrust along by his lithe body. Dark, masculine energy poured from him in waves – a raw sexuality that inspired his every movement. Though she had clearly surprised him again, he was determined to dominate that night, pulling her body close as the music grew louder around them, forestalling the need for speech.

When she stumbled, he was one stride ahead of her, dragging her along with him. When she proved slow to yield to him, he insinuated one long thigh between her own to guide her steps. With each one, she ceded more control to him, and a small and perverse part of her didn't mind at all. She could feel every shift of his hips, the full heat and hardness of his body hitting her above the waist and below. There was no carefully guarded embarrassment now, no hint of him backing down. She was wholly in his territory, and damn, it showed.

Confidence was something she'd always found sexy, and paired with that intense blue stare of his, it was proving to be downright irresistible. It really wasn't fair at all. He had her moving far too fast to think properly. She found herself starting to struggle for breath, but the Goblin King hadn't even broken a sweat.

“You _will_ answer me, Sarah, and you will do it in haste – I swear it.”

Despite her clumsy attempts to keep up, the dizzying spin of her surroundings and the heave of her rising gorge, she mustered the will to scoff at him. “As if threatening me is going to make me more willing to tell. Even if I _did_ know how I got here-”

The sudden, squeezing grip of his hand brought them to a complete standstill – the calm and unblinking eye at the centre of the roiling crowd. “You mean you truly don't know?”

Spared the confusion of their frantic dance, this time it was an absurd sense of guilt that flooded her belly, dampening some of the indignant fire there. It was the first time she had ever heard him anything less than sure of himself, and it caught her off guard. The uncertainty in his eyes, that quizzical note to his voice gave him something of a softer, more innocent quality, absurd as it was. As always, she was drawn in, unable to ignore anyone who was in need. She answered him before she realised what she was doing. “No. No, I really don't.”

Though he tried his utmost to conceal it, the slight sag in his posture was noticeable, just as she saw the fine muscles along his jaw lose some of their tension. That hand that held hers relaxed. When he next spoke, the Goblin King gave voice to the last thing Sarah would ever have expected him to be capable of. “My apologies. I thought you'd deliberately chosen to be difficult with me.”

Her need to refute him almost choked her. “ _I'm_ being difficult? You're the one who-” She cut herself off and forced herself to suck in a deep breath instead, releasing it again with a sigh. Arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere fast, no matter how tempting it was to really get into it with him – especially as he now seemed to be _smirking_ at her. “Apology grudgingly accepted, but I gotta ask: is it normal royal procedure to threaten everyone who winds up here?”

“Hmm. Nothing is written in stone, but I find intimidation tends to suit my purposes better than mindless small talk.”

“You must be a real hit at parties.”

Jareth's low, rich laughter tickled at her spine, and served as a reminder of just how closely they stood, clasped together. He made no effort to let her go. “I think I've rather missed your insolence.”

He resumed his steps, leading her more gently this time, and the dance went on. The music itself seemed to bow to his better mood, slipping into a slower, more stately tempo. The dancers around them became mere couples once more, and Sarah caught more than one admiring glance thrown in their direction. She found herself in want of a mirror, so that she could see just what kind of a couple the two of them made, and quickly quashed the urge. Though his touch was light and innocent – hip and hand, never daring anything more – there was a growing intimacy between them that filled her with reluctant delight. Now that Jareth had stopped with the interrogation, there was silence, but it was far from uncomfortable. It startled her, just how close she came to admitting that she'd missed him too.

Though her mind would always remain on full alert around him, her body settled into the steady motion of his easily enough. He seemed to feel it too, more instructor than adversary as he guided her to the music's slow beat. His careful feet picked up the slack whenever her own were unsure. One small step was all it took to bring the warm, full length of his lean frame against hers. He was so close that he filled her vision entirely, so close that she could see the faintest golden flecks of stubble upon his chin, the tiny creases at the edges of his mouth and at the corner of each eye as he smiled down at her. The stimulating scent that tickled her nostrils – musk and leather, and something fresh and green and faintly smoky, that she could not quite place – cinched it so that he consumed more than one of her senses. It occurred to her that she had been staring at his mouth for too long, and yet she could not make herself look away. It was that or his eyes, and she knew it would take only seconds to lose herself there. She had never been so conscious, so damned aware of him as a man. He made her feel almost weak, and she felt oddly grateful that he chose to speak first. Even the low, purring notes of his voice did a number on her.

“I must admit, I was … surprised to see you again so soon.”

Unable to hold back, she released a short burst of uneasy laughter. “To be honest, I think I'm more surprised that you don't know why I'm even here, seeing as this is your party I'm crashing.” Still keeping pace with him, she looked around, noting once again just how solid everything seemed, from the gilt-edged furniture to the river of people that flowed around them. “Though it seems less … floaty, here. Is it … is it real this time?” she asked.

“It is to me,” Jareth answered, after a slight pause. “I've been to this place in person many a time before; when you saw it in the past, you hadn't had the privilege. A mere projection of a place in one's mind doesn't hold as much realism, no matter how detailed it is. However, if a vision has at least some grounding in reality through actual memories, and as this is _my_ memory that this particular vision is feeding off …” When Sarah turned her full attention back to him, he had his head cocked in thought, his eyes fixed, trance-like, somewhere above her head. “I am, of course, dreaming at this moment,” he went on, his voice soft with contemplation. His gaze seemed to sharpen when it met hers. “This ballroom is my own, plucked directly from my mind, but you … _you_ aren't a projection or a memory. You're actually here, within my dream. The real question is, how?”

Sarah stiffened in his embrace. The idea of being a fragment of someone's dream, particularly his, gave her the most evil chills along her spine. It was like being told she wasn't real. When she spoke again, it was a little louder than usual, as if to assert that she was, in fact, a person. “How do you know I'm really here? How do _I_ know _you're_ really here? Maybe this is just another weird dream I'm having.” The fading ache just above her hip from where she'd pinched herself said otherwise.

“I assure you, it's not. This is all happening in my sleep, playing out within the supposed privacy of my own mind – and you, dear Sarah, are playing the voyeur once again.”

A hot rush of pleasure, sudden and unexpected, seized her body. Rather than trying to analyse or deny it, she was quick to move on. “So … you're sleeping now, and you were asleep before?”

“Not quite.” Their dance went on, seemingly eternal. “I was awake and … wool-gathering, for lack of a better word, earlier today. You happened to catch my mind in a rare moment of whimsy – a small moment of weakness, if you will. In a similar fashion, you've managed to come into my sleep, uninvited, while my mind was in an unguarded state. My dreams and daydreams are usually just that: my own. You'll forgive me if I'm not the best of hosts to an intruder.”

Sarah gave a snort. “Well excuse me if I don't offer to stay and clean up after the party, seeing as I didn't want to be here to begin with. I didn't even get the chance to shop for a ballgown.”

His gaze dipped down towards the tank-top she wore, as if noticing it for the first time. He lingered long enough to mark her, chin to cleavage, and collarbone to collarbone. “An interesting choice of evening wear,” he said, with a smirk. Those strange eyes found hers again, and they danced with mischief. “I assume I must've caught you in bed – and so _soon_ into our reunion. What a scandal.” His mocking tut only showcased those plush lips of his further. Their appeal made Sarah speak up swiftly to regain the upper hand.

“I could say the same for you, with what you were wearing before. Do socks and g-strings pass for high fashion in your kingdom nowadays?” The Goblin King's answering rumble of laughter placed her lungs somewhere high up in her throat, and tied her stomach in a knot.

“I think you might be projecting, love; the shirt wasn't cut quite high enough for you to sneak a decent peek at what I had on underneath. However, you can consider me most flattered if you've fantasised, and then dressed to match me.” His palm slid downward an inch or so along her back, slowly enough for her to complain if she really wanted to. When she did not, he allowed it to drop even lower, just enough for his fingertips to probe along the waistband of her shorts. He did it with such finesse, such easy familiarity, that it took Sarah several heart-jolting seconds to realise that he wasn't actively groping her; he was searching for a panty-line. His left eyebrow arched to new heights when his efforts proved to be in vain. The smirk widened. “Or perhaps you didn't dress at all. Is that what you hoped I was wearing, Sarah? Or rather, what you hoped I _wasn't_ wearing?”

Sarah flushed and huffed, and almost choked. “No! What I wear to bed is none of your business. I didn't try to look at you or anything! I just thought … the g-string … well, it's you, and you're all … showy … and I just _guessed-_ ” She bit down on her tongue before it could dig her any deeper. “I refuse to waste any more time talking about underwear preferences with you.”

“A pity. I rather like yours.”

“I'd like it if you just shut your mouth.”

“Impossible, I'm afraid. Now, if only you had _something_ on your rather under-dressed person to gag me with. I wouldn't object.”

This time, when Jareth smiled, he ran the very tip of his tongue across the points of his teeth, almost of it he could taste her wariness of him. Like any apex predator, he didn't waste his time moving in. As Sarah was already starting to discover, he was far too easy to flirt with, irritating as that little fact was, and he seemed far too willing to delve further into such a dangerous topic. As it was, she had done absolutely nothing to reposition his hand. Instead, she just danced there and took it until, after a long silence, and with an expression containing more smugness than she had ever thought possible, Jareth moved it himself. He gave her hip a gentle squeeze as he drew her more firmly against his body, and Sarah was alarmed to find more than just her face growing warm.

This wasn't how her evening was supposed to be going at all. For over four years, she'd wanted nothing more than to somehow forget all about the Goblin King. Now, after being in his arms for little more than four minutes, she'd gone from a vague hatred of the man, to a more pronounced hatred, combined with the sudden and undeniable urge to climb the man like a tree. Her right knee twitched at the idea, far too ready to betray her and hook itself onto his hip, and she stumbled over her next step. It only brought her closer to her calculating dance partner, who smiled as if he could read her thoughts. After all the tricks he'd managed to pull on her in his labyrinth, she wouldn't put mind-reading past him. Unfortunately, a charming, flirtatious Jareth was proving to be a decidedly trickier foe than a just plain evil one.

It seemed like four years had done a lot to change them both. She, for one, had definitely done a lot of growing up during their time apart. If the subtle pressure she felt against her hip was any indication, Jareth had definitely noticed. She was almost in a position to start grinding on the ruler of the Underground, and it bothered her a whole lot less than it should have. It was tempting to do just that, and despite the steadily growing heat between her legs, she knew she had to come to her senses. She thought of the dank oubliette she had once fallen into; she thought of the seemingly endless wall of sentient hands that had probably saved her life, and she imagined every last gnarled one slapping her soundly across the face, one at a time. Lord knows she needed it, with the shit she'd just been contemplating. She wasn't there to fall in lust with a real-life fairytale villain; she still wasn't sure why she was there at all. It looked like it was up to her to get them both back on track.

“Can you stop cracking jokes and playing grab-ass long enough for us to figure this out?” she demanded, a little more harshly than she had intended. “Someone here must have the _power_ to tell us what's going on – though guessing from the last time I saw you, that someone definitely isn't _you_.”

Oh, that sly little dig got him _hard_. That smirk of his might as well have been slapped off, for how quickly it disappeared. Though he didn't release his grip on her, he did take a small step backwards. The bit of extra breathing room was welcome, despite Sarah's sense of regret. Seduction needed to be last on their respective lists of priorities right now. When Jareth next spoke, his words were clipped and businesslike. “It goes without saying that you should not be here.”

“So send me back.”

Jareth waved away the idea with a roll of his eyes and an infuriating little flutter of his fingers, before he took up her hand again. “We'll come to that. First, tell me exactly what you were doing before you arrived here. Leave nothing out.”

“I was sleeping,” she told him.

“And?” Jareth pressed. “What did you say? What did you do that brought you here?”

She let loose a frustrated sigh. “And _nothing_. I was just … asleep. I didn't do anything.”

Jareth scoffed. “I beg to differ. My kingdom isn't in the habit of just admitting intruders without provocation – not even those who believe themselves to be … to be …” His lips parted, and then quickly closed again. When Sarah looked at him more closely, there was a gleam in his eyes that she swore hadn't been there a minute before. Then, it was gone. Whatever piece of information had come to him, however small, it was obvious he wasn't willing to share. His gaze hardened once more, and he offered her a cool smile. “You brought yourself here, Sarah, and now, as pleasant as this little catch-up has been, I'm going to have to insist that you leave, until I've had the time to contemplate this situation of ours further.”

“What?” Sarah shook her head. “You're the one with the magic; _you_ send me back. I can't make myself leave. I don't even know how to-”

Jareth leaned further into the respectful gap between them, and the intrusion was enough to effectively cut her off. “Yes, Sarah, you do.” His every word was a soft whisper across her lips. His eyes – those deep, soul-fucking eyes – captured hers wholly once again, leaving her with no escape. They twinkled with mischief as he smiled. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer to stay. Is that what's stopping you, precious thing? Is this all just one big hint that you'd like another stroll through my kingdom, perhaps even a second try at my labyrinth? Bear in mind that you're a big girl now, love, and I'd have to treat you as such. I'd have you screaming and begging me for mercy in minutes.”

The twisted smirk that accompanied his last claim told her just how much the idea intrigued him. Sarah decided to speak up before his undoubtedly filthy thoughts could take him any further down that path. “You know you're not going to scare me or charm me into giving you a second chance at beating me, right?”

The Goblin King only chuckled. “Give me time.”

He bent his head towards her with clear intent, eyelids heavy at half-mast, his lips angled to _take_. Without thought, without question or protest, or even pause to draw breath, she opened her mouth to him. She would worry about reasserting her disinterest in him once she'd finally felt his kiss. It was the only plan her rattled mind was capable of making right then, but as it turned out, Jareth had other ideas. As instinct curled her body into his in readiness for her surrender, his gloved hands moved along her body with purpose, skimming up along her back until they reached her bare shoulder-blades. There, his grip tightened marginally, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as anticipation clutched at her chest.

With no warning, he flattened both of his hands against her shoulders and _shoved_.

Panic erupted inside Sarah's head, white-hot and blinding. She was falling, tumbling backwards to crack her head on a solid stone floor with no time to save herself. In those terrifying few seconds, her single, desperate thought was ' _soft_ '.

She hit some kind of plush surface with a low grunt, her eyes flying wide. She found herself on her back, sinking into softness, and surprisingly free of pain, staring up at the man standing over her in confusion. There was just enough time for her to catch the expression of sheer astonishment on Jareth's face, before he had hidden it away again.

“Just as I thought,” he said, his lips pulling taut.

Sarah spluttered and tossed her hair out of her eyes. She couldn't believe the sparkly son of a bitch had actually pushed her over. She tried to at least haul herself into a sitting position, but as soon as she did, she began to sink back down into the yielding surface beneath her. When she pushed again, a softness that felt like silk encased nearly her whole hands. When she twisted her head to find out the cause, she realised she was lying on a well-stuffed cushion; at the same time, she realised that the cushion was covered in winding gold embroidery – almost an exact match for what had once been her favourite vest. It was soft enough to break her fall, and _almost_ soft enough to keep her trapped within its warm clutches for good. Struggling to her feet to try to reclaim her dignity was all but impossible. “You asshole!” she cried, too caught up in her present, tortoise-like predicament to even think about how she'd managed to find that mysterious cushion. “I could've split my skull open!”

“Yet you didn't.” Unsmiling, Jareth came two steps closer. It was only when he stood, towering over her, that Sarah realised just how goddamn _regal_ he seemed; just how tall and commanding. She had a moment to think that he might help her to her feet, as he came to stand with one boot planted on either side of her legs, yet he offered her no aiding hand as he bent down closer to her. “It's extremely rare I act without already knowing what the outcome will be, Sarah. You'd do well to remember that.”

Did he have to lean in quite so close as he spoke, close enough that he just _had_ to see the way her blood came pounding to the surface of her skin, lighting a fire beneath each cheek? No, of course he didn't. Lording it over her in her one minute of weakness was His Royal Jerk-off's way of trying to put her back in her place. Clearly, he hadn't forgiven her for that little dig, not to mention his afternoon of embarrassment.

It was just like her visit to his labyrinth, where he'd come to mock her misfortune in person, and she'd been unable to resist the urge to call him on his bullshit. Fresh out of oubliettes to throw down before her, the Goblin King had wanted a tired, scared little girl, awed by his twisted creation and repentant for her bullheaded efforts to defeat him. In the dark tunnels of the Underground, she'd given him boredom and contempt instead, refusing to play the timid little mouse in his game. His immediate response had been to raise the stakes even higher, successfully calling her bluff. Now, he had a grown woman to play with instead of a stubborn girl, and it was clear he'd decided a little change in tactics was in order.

With his toned thighs spread on either side of her body, the unsubtle v of his crotch all but pointing her in the face from that height, he wanted her cowed and submissive, overpowered this time not by his cruel tricks, but by his raw sexuality. It wasn't going to be that simple. Sarah struggled to sitting once more, keeping her eyes locked with his and ignoring the fact that the tip of her nose was now only a foot away from his crotch. She scrambled onto her feet with as much dignity as she could lay hands on – and all without laying a single finger on him.

“I guess I'll be leaving, then,” she said, with more confidence than she felt, and was stunned to see Jareth already beginning to fade, along with her surroundings.

She fell out of sleep with an almighty crash, left panting and floundering as if she'd found herself clutched in icy water, rather than the familiar, if slightly sweaty sheets of her bed. Though it took her precious seconds to grasp that fact, to come down from the pinnacle of that blind panic, there was no part of her mind that doubted what she had witnessed, no sweet relief to be found in the concept of ' _just a dream_ '. It had been a dream, all right – _his_ dream. Somehow, without quite meaning to, she had stumbled once again into the Goblin King's private world, and she knew that he would not take it lightly. Her eyes rolled around the familiar grey tones of her darkened bedroom, as if she might suddenly spy a nasty little goblin sneaking beneath her dresser, or even worse: an aggravating king sneaking his way into her bed.

The thought was enough to send her rocketing out from beneath the covers, and well on her way towards the kitchen. It was time for coffee. She had absolutely no intention of rediscovering sleep – or _him_ – that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaack. I can't believe it's been over a year since I managed to start this, and we haven't even gotten to any of the good stuff yet...


	3. On top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jareth is horribly embarrassed, but manages to claw back a little of his dignity - for now.
> 
> (TW: chapter contains one small part that may be difficult for arachnophobes. If you need to skip this, it's a single paragraph that begins with 'True to their word' and ends with 'an old friend', and has no major plot points within it. The 'sp__' word is mentioned once in the last sentence of the paragraph that begins 'Inside was an odd collection of items', and then you're good :) )

The ball, as well as his dream, was long since over, yet Jareth still sat within its empty shell, frozen in time, lost in his thoughts. His surprise guest had fled back into the night, leaving only one small trace of herself behind to mark her brief stay. Of course, given his lifelong fascination with all things Aboveground, the Goblin King was familiar with the age-old tale of Cinderella, in its many guises. Now, in place of Sarah, or indeed a glass slipper, he held a plump, cream and gold cushion in both his eyes and his arms. He could not seem to put it down. He could not look away.

In truth, he had seen finer things decorating the decidedly messy servant's wing of his castle. The cushion was crudely made and lumpy, barely held together at the seams, all that gold embroidery work clumsy and almost childish in execution. The uneven stitches began to unravel at the slightest pluck of his fingers, and yet the fact that it existed at all – existed _still_ , even after its creator had long since left the scene – was testament to a power far beyond what he had anticipated. This went far deeper than lucid dreaming. In particular, the winding, golden pattern that adorned the cushion continued to fascinate him. It was identical to the one Sarah had worn on their first meeting; he had seen that cursed waistcoat and its owner in his nightmares long after she had defeated him.

The fact that she had been able to conjure something so specific to their encounter was truly remarkable, and hinted at just how much potential there was to her new powers. It only fed his suspicions. At last, he set the cushion back down almost as if he feared the thing, which he supposed a part of him did. Until he had established for certain that her abilities did not surpass his own, he thought he was entitled to be a little wary.

Jareth woke himself with some reluctance, his body still heavy with sleep and his mind still full of Sarah. He supposed it was for the best to rise early to face his woes head-on, and yet he remained there between his sheets, staring up at the familiar ceiling of his bedchamber. He needed that extra time to come to terms with what had just occurred.

Seeing Sarah during the daytime, as humiliating as that had been, had stirred the ghosts of his memory. He hadn't been at all surprised to find his dreams chose to show him a glimpse of what once had been. He had found himself within the exact same costumed ball he once tricked her into attending, down to the very last glistening chandelier and grinning, masked guest. There, he had expected to encounter the shadow of a teenage girl, the haunting of a time over four years past, when she had shattered his best efforts to distract her. What he hadn't expected was for Sarah herself – the _real_ Sarah – to come waltzing into his sleep instead, invading his privacy once again. It appeared that nowhere was sacred to her.

Anger – _outrage_ , even – had quickly given way to admiration, and nothing could have prepared him for just how much he had enjoyed their brief chat. It wasn't as if he was short of good conversation, despite his daily dose of goblin nonsense. It was simply … _her_. Teasing her had lit up something in the back of his brain that he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. Jareth supposed it was the challenge she posed to him. Though no precise terms or conditions had been established this time, at least not yet, she would always be an opponent in his eyes – one who would not be persuaded to back down easily. It was now painfully clear that she knew even less about this new game than he did, and yet she still refused to cower in his presence, as determined as ever not to let him win. Hell, if he didn't appreciate a strong, driven, _beautiful_ woman.

He could still remember the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her skin and the warm, vanilla scent of her hair. There was a stirring of heat in the pit of his stomach as he recalled touching the intimate place that lay between her back and her bottom. His cock pulsed and tried to stir as he remembered the perfect smoothness of her body beneath its soft cotton covering, unhampered by the harsh lines of underwear. That, combined with the sight of her flat on her back before him, was almost enough to make his mouth water. He could still picture her beauty: all that long, dark hair, spread wild around her head; the indignant pucker of her lips and rapid heaving of her breasts; those long, pale legs splayed wide enough for him to make himself very much at home between them. He had stood over her as king, as cool and commanding as he could manage, when in the heat of the moment, he'd wanted nothing more than to kneel before her as a lover. It wasn't enough for her to have caught him in two of his weaker moments – no, the woman had the audacity to make him _want_ her while she was doing it.

Jareth groaned to himself and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. He had things to do, no doubt some important decisions to make, and if he wasn't careful, his cock would only compound an already difficult situation.

A bright flash on his right hand caught his eye, forcing him fully alert. He sat up in bed and brought that hand a little closer, squinting in the early morning light. A pale golden puff of thread was caught on the slightly rough edge of his middle fingernail, and he tweezed it free, his brow furrowed in concentration. There was nothing in the waking world – or nothing in his bed, at least – to explain it; he was entirely nude between the sheets, which themselves were a darkish, sage-green silk. He gaped at that little scrap of gold, stunned by the implications. The only golden thread he had touched lately might have been weak and fraying at the ends, but it was evidently strong enough to follow him straight out of his sleep.

“Unbelievable,” the concerned king whispered, but in truth he _did_ believe it. The evidence now sitting in the palm of one hand made it foolish to doubt her abilities, as worrying as they were. He set the piece of thread carefully aside, suspended inside one of his crystals, to examine later.

He took the few facts that he had and mulled them over. When Sarah had beckoned him while he was awake, he had been drawn straight into her world. Whilst that sudden loss of control over himself had been awful, he was certain he would be able to keep her at bay in future, provided she didn't catch him off guard again. If he was awake, he would be ready for her. That only left their second meeting, within his dream. Sleep was much trickier to contend with. Though he could control what happened within the dreams, there was little he could do to shield his mind from the outside. By succumbing to sleep, he left his unconscious body completely vulnerable. Given his already flourishing attraction to his new-found night terror, he could already imagine the darker turn his dreams about her might take – dreams that, if he didn't act immediately, she might also bear witness to. Gods, the sheer humiliation of it …

There was nothing else to it. She had to be stopped.

Jareth hauled himself out of bed in a hurry, willing himself clean and into fresh clothes even as he strode towards his chamber doors. Anyone he came across would give him a wide berth that morning, if they valued their hides. His ongoing dignity was at stake, and he was on a mission. In all of his searching the day before, there was one book he had yet to crack open, and now he was certain that it held the answer.

He had lived long enough by then to have accumulated a fair hoard of useless trinkets, and a castle vast enough to house them all in. The Goblin King did not consider himself to be a particularly sentimental creature by any means, but it pleased him to keep at least some record of the passing of the years. Every so often, he would bestow the arduous task of clearing out the worst of the clutter onto a trusted pair of his goblins, knowing full well that the greedy little fiends would take it upon themselves to furnish their hovels with their pick of his leavings. One man's trash, after all. However, there was one small corner of his collection of oddities that he had deemed strictly off-limits – one that even he had not cared to revisit for several years. That day, it was necessity, rather than nostalgia, that led him to the very back of his locked storeroom.

True to their word, the goblins had not set foot here, not even to clean. Jareth's own heavy boots left distinct tracks upon the filthy stone floor. Above his head, it seemed an entire band of spiders had decided to make their mark: countless layers of webbing covered the ceiling in a pale, ghostly shroud, and hundreds of tiny, sparkling eyes peered down at him from between the strands. They didn't seem to fear him at all as they scuttled about their business. Even as Jareth surveyed the mess they had caused, one of the blighters – shiny in the dim light, and easily as big as the span of his hand – lowered itself down on slim yet sturdy legs to inspect him. It alighted onto his right shoulder and gripped him through his shirt, a living spaulder of gold and green plating. A wave of Jareth's hand had the cheeky thing spellbound and sent back on its merry way, before it could get too comfortable on his person. When he was certain he would remain undisturbed, Jareth sank to his knees before an old friend.

The ancient carved oak chest was big enough to hold a good-sized child, and had belonged to him ever since he was a babe. Jareth still remembered the childish excitement of his eighth birthday, when he had finally been deemed responsible enough to hold the key to it. He drew that same key out of his pocket then and fingered the worn, smooth metal, smiling as it warmed under his touch. It had been enchanted long ago to respond only to him. With his free hand, he wiped at the thick blanket of dust that obscured the chest's ornate lid. The tips of his fingers slipped into the familiar shapes that were etched into the wood, gathering puffy grey curls of the dust as they went. The handsome visage of an owl soon peered out at him through all the muck, followed by a noble wolf, and then a stern-faced bear. He still knew each one by heart. When his head had taken its fill of nostalgia, and his lungs their share of stray dust particles, Jareth found the gilded lock and slid the key home. The old tumblers turned without protest, and a moment later the chest's heavy lid began to rise.

Inside was an odd collection of items that still retained some importance to him: there was a little toy soldier he had adored as a young lad; a thick sheath of letters, songs and poems he'd collected over the years, some of the pages so worn by repeated handling that they felt like cloth. There were memories documenting his travels both Underground and Above: crystals, postcards and sketches, a selection of photographs, and even a daguerreotype or two. A weathered leather pouch held a mixed handful of coins, shells and semi-precious stones, picked up during one journey or another. Beneath it all was what he sought: a single book that had been buried deep, never to see the soft light of his library. Jareth lifted it from the chest with both hands. Its leather-bound cover had not aged a day, the golden letters of its title still as sharp and clear as they had been on the day of its purchase. _The_ _Labyrinth._ Now that he had what he had come for, the rest of the chest, and the entire storeroom beyond it paled into insignificance. The Goblin King sat down amidst the dust and the dirt, and the jewel-eyed spiders, and began to read.

Some time later, he was back on his feet and headed to the first of his afternoon meetings, a little wiser but no less frustrated. The book had confirmed his suspicions, but it had given him no clear answers to his troubles. If anything, he felt weak and unprepared, now that he had some idea of the many trials that now lay ahead. He desperately needed to speak to the woman responsible for the messy situation, but his schedule, not to mention his pride, would not let him. Not yet – not while she still might hold the upper hand. It irked him no end, to be left to wield so little power over the whole state of things, when she might yet hold so much.

His stomach howled at him like a living thing, and as he walked he pulled a ripe pear out of the empty space above his head, as if plucking the fruit from a tree visible only to him. His first bite was both spiteful and _satisfying_. Jareth had almost ducked his head for a second, when the pear's sweet juice seemed to sour on his tongue, and his ferocious hunger all but withered away. Now that he was fully alert, he could feel her – Sarah – tapping at the very edges of his mind once again, trying to find her way in. She was thinking about him, he realised, her thoughts stretching out tenuous fingers towards his own, trying to draw him to her. Like the cushion, it was a crude attempt at contact at best, but for her to have come so far so soon, able to consciously reach out to him this way, was incredible.

Thankfully, as he had suspected, this time he had enough presence of mind to ward her off. With her new powers still on such shaky legs, it was easily done. Jareth didn't want to think of a time in the not too distant future, when it might become far less simple to dismiss her. He could have sent her some message, a kind word to let her down easy, or perhaps even a witty taunt to snub her, but he chose to give her stony silence instead. Let her think that she had already lost her new power before she had even had the chance to really use it – at least for a little while. It would be a short-lived victory at best; soon, she would press harder, straining against him as she tried to figure out the full extent of her strength. Now that her curiosity had been piqued, there was no telling how far she might go to satisfy it.

His appetite now fully gone, Jareth tossed the pear out of the nearest open window, mostly uneaten. He went out of his way to slip back into his private rooms, needing a little reassurance before he could be expected to hold court. To his alarm, he realised he could feel his heart thudding against his ribs as he approached his bedside table. His fingers were slightly clammy as they gripped the crystal he had left behind that morning. Jareth looked into it, and heaved a sigh of relief. The piece of gold thread had been small to begin with, but now it had shrunk to little more than a pinprick at the centre of the glass orb. Before he set the crystal down only a minute later, the thread had disappeared entirely. It had been strong enough to follow him, yet too weakly conjured to remain in his realm for long. That obvious flaw in Sarah's powers added a spring to his step for the rest of the afternoon. The day was his.

There was no real hope of keeping her out of his dreams, though.

Jareth had always been a lucid dreamer, able to mould the random shapes of his sleeping thoughts into something to better suit his tastes, but there was some good in letting his dreams simply run their course, at times. It was a decent enough release of any stray, negative emotions that might have otherwise plagued him throughout the daytime. So, when Jareth succumbed to sleep that night and found himself inside one of his old, recurring nightmares, he was not immediately alarmed. He had forced himself to swallow down the unpleasant feelings the dream evoked often – a bitter taste of what it would feel like to be truly weak and worthless.

It began, as always, in his throne room. There was something important to be announced that day, only Jareth could not quite recall what it was. Near enough all of his loyal subjects had assembled before him at his command, the stone walls of his castle stretched to exaggerated proportions just to accommodate them all, and the Goblin King had not a single, sensible word in his head to offer them. His tongue felt thick and mushy, too wide for his mouth to contain. There was fresh, nervous sweat on the back of his neck, and plastering his limp hair to his forehead. His stomach was a boiling pot of anxiety, and his chest was squeezed tight enough to allow only the bare minimum amount of air into his burning lungs. Out of sorts, Jareth rubbed his clammy palms together and ran his slobbering tongue out over his dry, scaly lips. No matter what vile sorcery had rendered him so hopeless, he was still the king, and he would persevere. He would do his duty – whatever it was.

“Tank you all for tumming,” he said around his thick tongue, and blinked several times as he absorbed the words. Something wasn't right. He felt himself starting to blush as few soft titters came from the crowd. He had spoken so softly, only the first few rows had heard him, thank the gods. “ _Thank_ to for _coming_.” That wasn't right either. _Twatting hell_. “ _You_ ,” he said, louder, wincing at the high break in his voice. “ _Thank you_. F-for coming.” Hot sweat trickled into his left eye, and he blinked at the salty sting. In the third row of his sizeable audience, he spied the harsh, disapproving face of his childhood tutor, just to make everything that wonderful bit worse. He offered the old codger a tight smile, and received a frosty glare in response.

“I suppose you're all w-wondering why I called you here.” Of course they were wondering. The first two rows had already begun to speculate quite loudly amongst themselves, further adding to Jareth's distraction. More sweat ran down his scalding cheek, and without thinking, he extended his wet tongue to lap it away. More laughter swelled from the middle of the crowd as he begged for their flagging attention. A drunken goblin heckled him to hurry it up, and instead of sending the impudent little whelp straight to the Bog, Jareth stammered out a soft apology. He could hear his voice was getting weaker.

The first six or so rows were talking over him now, and his requests for silence began to grow desperate. His bladder clenched painfully, and he shuffled his feet in the old, familiar dance. When he looked down at said feet, he saw that a set of dark, ugly claws had pushed through the leather. He wished he had thought to wear a better pair of boots – a _higher_ pair of boots. The people at the back of the crowd could probably hardly see him where he stood. His stomach dropped when he realised that he had actually begun to shrink.

As always, it was at that point in the dream that he started to grow smaller and smaller, warts and coarse bristles erupting all over his puny body, until Jareth was as ugly and insignificant as his least favourite goblin. Those in the crowd that didn't point and laugh at their king's misfortune ignored him completely, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about any of it – not until he chose to take ownership of the nightmare and wake himself from it. He was ready to do just that, when he saw her. There, right in the middle of the front row, filling a space that had been empty air only a moment before, stood Sarah, conspicuous in yet another revealing set of nightwear.

The gods only knew just how much of his mind's cruel trickery she had just borne witness to. The trying woman had embarrassed him enough the day before, and yet it seemed that she still wasn't satisfied. She had to watch him as his own brain made him look the fool as well. Though she had one hand raised to cover her mouth, it couldn't completely hide her smile. She was chuckling at his predicament along with all the rest. Oh, what a long way he must have fallen in her eyes, from engaging yet intimidating, to downright _amusing_. It was too much. He was certainly not a clown, and he absolutely would _not_ stand to be seen as a snivelling little goblin any longer. Scowling, Jareth stepped forward to take back control.

“I think that's quite enough, don't you? You can go now,” he said, and relished the sudden wince that appeared on each face – save hers – as his voice echoed throughout every corner of the room. The fearful crowd began to disperse at his will, and then, when they did not leave quickly enough for his liking, to disappear entirely, fragments of his dream as they were. Jareth began to grow to his regular height, and the rough, hardened skin sloughed from his body, leaving him tall, smooth and fair once more. Once he found himself to be presentable enough, he fixed Sarah with his best sneer.

“Here _again?_ I'm flattered that you find me interesting enough to persist in invading my sleep for yet another night. Do make yourself at home, by all means. Since you're here, would you care for a cup of tea, a glass of wine, perhaps? No? Something to eat then … a light repast? Maybe a small sandwich … a piece of cake _,_ even? Or – now _here's_ an idea – maybe you'd prefer to just fuck … _off._ ”

The dark look she threw him just before she disappeared caused a tiny, gratifying tremor at the base of his spine. Once again, he had managed to best her, despite the embarrassment he had already suffered at her hands. Once again, he was left alone. Jareth came out of his sleep soon after, angry at being caught unawares yet again, and absolutely livid at himself for handling the situation so poorly. He vowed to do better next time.

It bothered him no end that he had already assumed there would be a next time.

Sure enough, it did not take long for Sarah to reach out to him again. He felt her late the next day, tugging at the edge of his mind. Already, it felt a little stronger than her last attempt, perhaps fuelled by the rotten way he had treated her. Once again, Jareth chose to deny her, but this time he sent a clear message into her thoughts.

 _I was rude to you, and I apologise. Please, leave me for today. I_ will _be in touch._

He knew that she had heard him, for that pulling sensation inside his head ceased its pestering – albeit reluctantly. As always, the persistent thing couldn't seem to leave him alone for long.

She returned to him often throughout his days, chipping away little by little at his mental fortitude. It was a struggle to concentrate on his royal duties, what with the added effort of keeping her out of his thoughts. Her presence made it all but impossible to appreciate the many small pleasures in life, particularly as he could no longer sit down to a good book or a quiet meal without being interrupted. One particularly bleak afternoon, Jareth found himself unable to enjoy something as simple as pissing in peace; Sarah found him even at his toilet, _tap-tap-tapping_ as merrily as ever at his mind, as if she were an impatient patron hammering at his chosen bathroom stall.

An idle five minutes one evening found him perched on a window's edge, conjuring countless glassy, prismatic bubbles, all for the amusement of the handful of stray cats that frolicked below. The playful things always seemed to hang around the castle grounds, and he had taken something of a shine to them. Jareth had even gone to the trouble of naming some of his most frequent visitors, though he would never admit to it in the company of anyone worthwhile. The little game came to an abrupt end when the Goblin King felt an all too familiar intruder attempt to push her way into his mind. Once again, he was forced to raise his mental barriers to keep her out, and in a fit of annoyance, he burst the last few bubbles he had formed. His fun suddenly over, Mr. Mistoffelees gazed up at him with blank, shiny eyes and, consistent with his quiet nature, offered up a single, curious chirrup. Jareth sighed and waved the little fellow away, and in a silent slither of black smoke, the cat was gone. If only Sarah was so easy to be rid of.

Patience wasn't an attribute that came easily to him. It had taken him many years to blunt the worst of his sharp temper, and to learn to embrace the daily trials that came with playing ringmaster to a rogue troupe of goblins. He feared that the the challenge of having his own private mind-guest was proving to be beyond him. He told himself frequently that she was younger, new to the ways of magic and naïve to how she affected him; he bit his tongue and steeped in the bitter brew of his anger and humiliation. He tried, but he could not forget the numerous small wrongs she did him, and he wasn't prepared to forgive, as frustrated as he felt. There were many reasons a man needed his privacy.

The Goblin King considered himself to be a highly sexual being, with a healthy relationship with his body, not to mention with a couple of his kingdom's fairer maidens. Denying himself his accustomed level of physical contact was starting to take its toll. His frustration began to manifest itself within his dreams, showing him things he dared not imagine while Sarah lingered and watched from the wings. He fought off such thoughts at first, leading his sleeping self not into temptation, forcing himself awake before anything of real interest could occur. Still, his lustful thoughts did not abate. His cock had been left aching for release for days, _weeks_ even, and even the slightest incidental brush of contact sent cold fire racing up along his spine. His balls were heavy and throbbing, and yet he was too afraid to seek out relief from a partner, or even to take himself in hand, lest he find himself rudely interrupted at a crucial moment.

He was, for want of a less vulgar term, _gagging_ for it. Sex was on his mind almost constantly. There wasn't a single statement from his advisers that his mischievous brain couldn't twist up into knots of filthy innuendo. Starved of sensuality and beauty as he was of late, he found himself searching out the best parts of every person he met: a fine pair of legs on an otherwise average body, or a remarkably soft-looking pair of lips in a homely face. He suspected that, given a few more miserable weeks, even his least appealing subjects might start to seem like viable options, and the thought made him shudder. One way or another, he had to get out of this mess, and long before his twisted mind could stuff one of his goblins into a nice fishnets and heels combo, or squeeze a craggy horror such as that loathsome little Hoghead into a pair of assless chaps. Jareth didn't think his libido could ever make a full recovery from something like that.

It seemed like he spent each day floating in some grey purgatory between the cold taunts of his dreams and an even crueller reality. The added bonus of sleep deprivation only added to his darkening mood. His temper flared up in sudden and spiteful bursts, encouraged by some of his most tiresome subjects. For the first time in years, the Bog of Eternal Stench had a waiting list, but even that petty torment wasn't enough to satisfy him. His surrender to pleasure was perhaps inevitable. His constant voyeur, bold and beautiful as she was, ensured it.

When one night's wishful dreaming took him to more sensual surrounds, somewhere between memory and fantasy, Jareth went willingly. The lighting in the gathering hall was low and intimate after one of the Goblin King's more raucous parties, the air perfumed with fresh flowers and incense, and thick with desire. The guests who had come only for the dancing and free wine had long since tottered out of his castle's grand doors. In their absence, the revelry began anew, akin to a true Bacchanalian orgy. Finger food and yet more wine was in abundance; Jareth had barely entered the room before a passing serving girl slipped a silver goblet into his hand and a plump, green olive into his mouth. The Goblin King smiled as he chewed, following the woman's over the shoulder smile just as well as he watched the sway of her bare bottom. He was tempted to follow her as she made her way towards a dark corridor, but the room as a whole called more loudly to him.

There was laughter and soft music, and not a few squeals of delight that were not out of place. To Jareth's perceptive eye, there was not a single inch of hard, cold floorspace left exposed; silken throws and plump pillows draped the empty spaces that were not already occupied by his guests. Some were sitting, others reclined, and _all_ were naked. Those nearest to him had taken note of his arrival, and they offered up dark-eyed stares and lazy, welcoming smiles to their king. There were women and men to suit all tastes – a full banquet of beautiful bodies, each one painted in lust and glistening sweat. How Jareth longed to taste them all. There were almost too many to choose from, but one particular guest climbed to her feet amidst the crowd, and she made it her purpose to be the first he devoured that night.

The woman did not baulk under her king's hungry stare, taking her time as she picked her way through the writhing bodies that surrounded her. Her red hair shone like copper, the golden freckles that dappled her chest and shoulders leading his eyes on a downward dance along the rest of her inviting body. She came just beyond his arm's reach and paused there, and she smiled and crooked a finger at him. Jareth found he hadn't the will to refuse such a tempting invitation.

Stepping forward, he took her by the waist and pressed a hard kiss to her full, wine-stained lips. Almost immediately, she seized him by the tip of his belt, and he grinned as he allowed her to lead him to their own special space amidst the other revellers. In no time at all, Jareth found himself adrift in a sea of sensual pleasures, his wine still in one hand, and a warm, wet cunt pressed against the other. Another short skip in time had him robbed of his clothing, his partner on her back and in the last throes of ecstasy beneath him. Her hands clutched at his hair with surprising strength, her legs locked firmly around his hips as she came down from her orgasm. Even spent, she begged her king to fuck her harder.

Though the dream-warmth of being inside her tight body was nothing compared to the real thing, it felt like heaven to finally be permitted to just let go. Jareth groaned into the smooth stretch of his dream lover's neck as he thrust deeper into her, seeking that which had been denied him in his waking hours. Deprived as he was, he knew it wouldn't take long. For a time, he focussed only on the slick heat that welcomed him, the tight clench of her walls around his shaft. All too soon, however, he became aware of something outside of the rhythm of his hips – a certain someone whose presence alone demanded his attention.

Groaning, Jareth raised his head and trained his lust-glazed eyes on the woman who had so quickly and so surely made herself the bane of his existence. She was standing only a matter of feet away, more real than the strange woman beneath him, and she was _watching_ him. Though the shock of seeing her slowed his thrusts some, Jareth found he could not stop entirely. He watched her, watching him, the sensation of those deep green eyes moving over his body sending prickles of excitement through his exposed flesh. Her gaze trailed over his bare chest and stomach, all the way down to the place where he and his fantasy lover were joined. Sarah watched as, with renewed passion, he began to fuck the deliciously tight creature below him into the silken cushions that surrounded them. He only wished that such cushions did not remind him so much of an entirely different dream; he remembered all too well the way he and Sarah had bickered as they had danced, and the way she had looked thrown onto her back below him.

Gods, she was beautiful. Rather than concentrating on the soft moans of his lover, Jareth found he could not tear his eyes away from the less than innocent bystander who watched their coupling. The sight of Sarah standing there, this time clad in nothing more than pale pink knickers and a clinging grey vest top, did more to him than all the bare flesh and debauchery that was on show. He drank in the vision: the plump, pink toes and long, lean legs; the gentle curves of her mound and hips and belly through her tight clothing; the full breasts, and what he believed, even at some distance, to be a hint of peaked nipple. Her face was a portrait in pleasure and wonder, lips parted and eyes glazed with desire, surrounded by a cascade of silky, dark hair. There was a soft blush to her cheeks – whether from shyness or simply from sleep, Jareth didn't know – and that innocent flush took his own pleasure to new heights. Just by standing, _being_ , doing nothing but return his stare, she was enough to author his undoing. He wanted _her_ , and before he could even think to prevent it, his fantasy began to change.

He glanced down, gasping, and saw that the beautiful unknown beneath him was no longer such a stranger. The smattering of freckles across the woman's skin had begun to pale and vanish, just as the vivid shades of red in her hair were overwhelmed by much darker tones. The mischievous blue eyes that had first targeted him were now a cool and gorgeous green. Her breasts grew heavier, fuller under his touch, the legs that remained wrapped around his hips gaining more length and tone. The woman _wasn't_ Sarah, but she had become her double right before his startled eyes, and Jareth was too far gone to even think of changing her back. His head snapped back up in alarm, seeking out the real Sarah, and in the split second before he came, it was _her_ keen, smouldering stare that he found. She stared back at him, she saw, and she knew everything. For just one precious moment, it was as though he was completely engulfed by her, mind and body.

 _Oh, Sarah … I never dreamed you'd take me this deep. Oh,_ gods _, Sarah … please …_ fuck _… oh, no, not like-_

His climax stunned him, seizing his balls in a sudden and sweetly violent grasp, his hips locked at the pinnacle of one last, urgent thrust. Jareth screwed his eyes shut and groaned out in desire and dismay as his cock swelled and jerked, and began to spend. The pleasure that gripped his body was fierce, electric, draining him of all strength and leaving him shuddering long after it was through with him. He collapsed onto his forearms, panting, weak and cold all over, though he could still feel the sweat beaded on his skin. With gratitude, he saw that the hair he had buried his face into was a vibrant red once more. Though the lover that stroked his back and purred filthy words into his ear was only a figment of his fantasies, for one gorgeous and grotesque moment, she had become far too real. By the time he had himself back under some form of control, the genuine article was already gone.

Jareth snatched himself out of sleep so quickly he made his head spin, only to discover that he had experienced his first wet dream in decades. When he tore back the damp sheets, he saw that the entirety of his stomach was covered, warm and wet with his essence. The feel of the room's cool air upon his softening cock sent his body into fresh tremors. _Fuck_. He felt more than a little pathetic. Even the lingering endorphins from his unexpected climax could not prevent his sour mood. He was so used to commanding every given scenario, always able to pull himself from even the most erotic dreams before the critical moment, still sane enough to finish the job with his own hand.

This was something else – another unacceptable step beyond his comfort zone. She hadn't even _touched_ him. With just one look shared between them, he had been pushed to lose all control, and all because of her. Jareth hadn't felt so artless and inept since his first early explorations into the world of sex, so many years ago. The unexpected sticky and cooling mess on his belly was just as shameful as it had been back then. He banished the lot from his slightly sweaty person with a grimace. He hated it, hated the embarrassment and the loss of control, and yet he could not help but wonder.

He obsessed over that dream for the rest of the night, and long after the the first fingers of sunlight had caressed the horizon. He wondered if she had liked the tableau their entwined bodies had made together; if she had enjoyed the shape the two of them had forged, or it the bluntness of it laid bare had disgusted, or perhaps frightened her. He wondered it had thrilled her enough to make her wet. He wondered if she wanted the real thing.

When he concentrated hard on the subject of Sarah Williams, he could hear her agitation, manifested in the frantic repetition of his name – as if the woman had any right to be angry or upset over his desires when she had seen them uninvited. It was the final straw for the frustrated Goblin King. He was finally ready to talk, but not without a little sweet vengeance first. The next time his unsolicited visitor decided she wanted a peek inside his private world, he would be sure to give her a real show.

His chance came less than a week later. He had not seen hair nor lovely hide of a certain spying Sarah within his dreams since _the incident_ , and she had perhaps thought it wise to avoid calling out to him whilst awake, at least for a short while. However, as Jareth had strongly suspected, she could not keep a lid on that insatiable curiosity of hers for long.

It was yet another of his peaceful Sundays – eight weeks exactly since the fateful afternoon on which their lives had become intertwined – when the Goblin King felt the familiar tug at one corner of his mind; the complete focus on him. It would have been so easy to let her draw him into her world, playing the obedient genie to her wish for contact. Instead, he took the time to position himself to his advantage for their encounter. He moved from one room of his castle to the next in a rush of magic, shedding his clothes along the way. He was ready soon enough, smiling as he settled into his warm, comfortable seat. When, after several seconds of silence, Sarah reached out for him again, Jareth reached back … and drew her straight into the Underground.

The look of pure, unfiltered surprise on her face when she appeared before him was almost perfect enough to make him forgive her for her past transgressions. Jareth enjoyed that hesitant, lost little lamb's expression for a moment as his new guest tried to get her bearings. Her shock did not dissipate, for he had brought her to a rather more intimate part of his castle than she had seen on her last, long ago visit: his private bath. She was a trifle overdressed for the occasion in jeans and a cream-coloured sweater, but with that delicious look on her face, Jareth could hardly complain.

“W-what are you doing?” she managed to stammer out.

Jareth flashed her a lazy smile and then closed his eyes. “I should have thought that was obvious, Sarah. You _are_ familiar with the concept of bathing, yes?”

He gave a wholly unnecessary shift of his body within the warm confines of his bath, causing the water to lap at his bare torso. Only a thin film of bubbles kept him from being fully exposed. When he opened his eyes again, he kept them fixed on his stunned guest. Sarah, however, seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. She had been more than happy to gawk at him within the secret world of his dreams, yet now, faced with him in the bare flesh, the very idea seemed to be turning the poor girl redder than a poppy field. The Goblin King found the delicious irony of it most palatable. It delighted him to realise just how _fun_ it was to make his most persistent challenger blush.

“Of course I am, you ass. I just don't know why you have to do it _now_!” Her voice reached new and entertaining heights as it cracked.

Jareth offered her his most winsome smile. He stretched his arms back so that his elbows rested on the bath's marble rim, displaying the toned breadth of his chest to its fullest. Oh, this really _was_ fun. He smirked up at his captive audience. “My, the echoes in my _private_ bath seem to have taken on a rather incessant, nagging quality, of late. As it happens, I've only just stepped in to escape the many woes of my world, dear Sarah. I did intend to finish what I've begun _alone_ , but well … here we are. So, there you have it, Sarah – or should I say _here_ you have it. Congratulations, you've gotten what you came for.” His head gave a knowing tilt to one side, and he gazed up at her through heavy lashes. The Champion of his labyrinth was all twiddling thumbs and bumbling lips as she tried to find an answer to that one. Her halting stammer might as well have been Jareth's victory fanfare.

“I … I do- don't know what you're talking about.”

She was about as good a liar as she was a babysitter. Jareth allowed his eyes to widen a fraction, just enough to suggest hurt – hurt! – that his meaning could possibly be misconstrued. “Why, my undivided attention, of course. That's what you've been striving for all the times you've called for me, isn't it?”

“So you _did_ hear me,” Sarah almost whispered.

Clearly, the poor thing didn't like to be ignored. How fortunate, then, that the benevolent Goblin King had every intention of making all those missed connections up to her. She wanted him, and so he would give her far more of himself than she could hope to handle. Jareth almost laughed at the truly _delicious_ , malicious compliance of it. Aloud, he said: “I have an entire kingdom to run, pet; you'll forgive me if I can't take every other afternoon as a personal day. I have things to do. Entire baronies might crumble in my absence, and opposing factions could very well go to war before my return. _Lives_ could be at stake.”

Sarah, clearly having regained a little of her courage, huffed out a sigh. “Always were a drama king, weren't you?”

The colour in her cheeks and the furtive glances she threw his way belied her disgusted tone. Her eyes drank him down in tiny, pecking sips, like a hummingbird at its favourite flower. If he happened to be her preferred choice of nectar, Jareth could hardly complain. His throbbing cock had already convinced him that he would have her before this whole fiasco was finally through, and so he welcomed her interest. It was gratifying indeed to find he held at least some power over the woman after all, even if it was merely the potent trappings of physical desire.

“Your little witticisms aren't getting us any nearer to the point of all this, love. You've got me just where you wanted me: completely at your mercy. The real question is … now that you have me, whatever are you going to do with me?”

“I d-don't want to _do_ anything! I'm obviously bugging you by being here, right? So don't you want to talk when you're a little more … I dunno, _dressed_?” she hedged.

“Oh, does the naked form make you uncomfortable? I wasn't aware. You didn't seem to exhibit any adverse reactions to it the other night.”

Jareth grinned outright as Sarah continued her attempts to look anywhere but at him. He kept his eyes on her, watching her flush darken as he made a show of crossing and uncrossing his legs. The suds stirred around him, and he used the subtle movement to his advantage, waving a hand at the surface to lower the water level by another couple of inches. The brazen woman had proven to be enough of a distraction to him over the past few weeks, and now Jareth was curious to see how she would cope with one of her own. Everything of any real import would remain covered – but only just. “You're welcome to stay a while, if you wish,” he invited. “After all, one's privacy is such a meaningless thing between friends, don't you think? Particularly after what you've already witnessed.” He uncrossed his legs again.

As he thought back to that night, the memory of her eyes on him as he pushed deep into another woman's wet heat had its effect on his prone body. He was sorely tempted to touch himself at least once in her presence, just to see if he could make her react in a similar way. He had only intended to taunt her, not to actually bathe with her in the same room, but he had already started to realise that there were no sure bets whenever she was around. Her presence alone was intoxicating, urging him on to new highs – or perhaps lows. Naked as he was, the Goblin King had no sleeves in which to hide his tricks, but in his head, a new and nefarious scheme was already beginning to form.

He took a deep breath and then submerged himself, sinking down into the deep marble recess of the tub until he felt the warm water licking over his scalp. He stayed under just long enough to put any observer on edge, before he resurfaced with a soft sigh. His soaked hair clung to his back and shoulders, and sent slick, ticklish streams spilling over his bare skin. It was almost impossible not to smile as he felt Sarah's eyes roving over his face and form. When Jareth blinked his eyes open again, tiny crystal droplets fell from his damp lashes.

“Besides,” he continued, unruffled, as he drew a tall, glass bottle of shampoo into one hand. “This is the only time I can spare, inconvenient as it is. As I said, I'm a busy man, and I'm afraid I have other plans that will take up the rest of my day.” Said plans involved dissecting this very meeting over a glass or two of wine, and most likely another skim through his VHS collection, but that was information he did not intend to divulge. He pulled the bottle's heavy stopper and let the rich, honey-coloured concoction flow into his palm. The Goblin King took a deep inhale of the familiar spicy, almost peppery scent, and smiled to himself as he watched Sarah do the same. He let loose a soft groan of pleasure as he began to massage the cool liquid into his scalp, relaxing into his own touch.

To his amusement, he realised that his keen observer must have been enjoying herself just as much as he was. Rather than speaking up to call his bluff, or to criticise him for his current lapse in manners, she seemed perfectly content to remain silent and to simply watch him. He took the time to give his hair a thorough cleansing, for once relishing being the focus of her attention. Feeling rather smug, the Goblin King gave a soft huff of laughter.

“Still with me, Sarah? It isn't like you to be this … meek.” He ducked under again to rinse himself off, and by the time he resurfaced, he could still hear Sarah's indignant splutters. This time, he _did_ smile as he blinked open his eyes.

“I refuse to talk to you when you're like this,” his flustered guest finally managed.

“Oh, but you've been trying for so long.” Jareth reached for another, heavier bottle, and proceeded to pour a generous measure of the contents into his palm. Now, it was heavy notes of amber and oak-moss that graced his nose. He trained the bottle to hang in the empty air as he began to work up a lather over his neck and shoulders, coming back every so often for more. Creamy white suds rolled down the firm planes of his chest and tickled at his stomach. “Day after day, night after night, you've come for me, seeking my time and attention. Now you have both. If that _still_ isn't enough, then by all means, enlighten me as to what is. What precisely is it that you want from me, Sarah?” He let one hand idly trail along his breastbone as he looked at her. The silent, nonsense shapes formed by her plush mouth fascinated him.

“I … I … _I don't know_!” At last, Sarah exploded. “I don't know what the hell's going on, why I can sometimes see you and feel you, or why you can hear it whenever I thi … whenever I _say_ your name. I don't know how I keeping popping into your dreams and … and whatever _this_ is, and … what the _fuck_ , Jareth, could you stop _rubbing_ yourself for a second? Jesus, this is weird enough as it is!”

Jareth smirked and chose to ignore her request. All at once, he was determined to be squeaky clean. He began to massage more of the thick gel into his stomach. “I'd appreciate it if we could discuss what's going on like adults. No more sneaking little sniffs at my dreams, or attempting to pull me into your world at will. In return, I'll tell you what I know.”

“I'm not sure I _want_ to know,” Sarah muttered, clearly mortified.

“But you seemed so eager to learn, the way you've been hounding me. Really, Sarah. You've been most relentless as you've tried to build on that small power you find yourself in possession of … by choosing to test me – _me_ , of all people. You've chosen to push your way into my sleep, insinuating yourself into my dreams and into my life, without even the slightest worry of what I could do to yours. A trifle foolish, don't you think? Particularly when you don't have the faintest idea of what you're playing with.”

Sarah grimaced and held up her hands. “Okay, I get the picture. I messed up. I'm sorry. You know I don't know as much about … magic … as you do.” There was a questioning lilt to her words, a faint spark of vulnerability in her eyes, as if she were seeking his input. When none was forthcoming, she went on. “It's just so new and … well, I'll try to control it a little better from now on, okay? So that I won't annoy you when you're … busy.” Another pointed glance at the waterline had her quickly looking away again.

Jareth snorted. “If you wanted to kiss my arse, love, you couldn't have picked a better locale for it. It's all but hanging out for you to pucker up to.” The crudeness of his words seemed to be have such an intriguing effect on the colour of her cheeks, and it made him grin. “Besides, how can you expect to properly control that which you don't understand? As I said, I'm feeling generous enough to explain right now. It may take a while though, so I suggest you get comfortable.”

Sarah scoffed and sputtered. “What, you want me to just jump on in there with you?”

“If you like.” Highly amused now, Jareth decided to tease his as yet unrepentant spy a little further. He had no shame in revealing his body to a potential lover, so long as it was on his own terms, and not in full view of several of some of his most infuriating subjects. He shifted so that he was on his knees in the deep bathtub, and the waterline lapped dangerously low on his belly. He was still semi-erect, and he made only a half-hearted attempt to cover up, cupping himself loosely with one hand as he rose to his feet. Warm, sudsy water sluiced down his thighs and buttocks, the air of the room cool and refreshing on his damp skin. Smiling, Jareth squared his shoulders and stood tall – _proud_. “Why, with all your unannounced appearances over the past few weeks, I feel like I have nothing left to hide. Are you brave enough to say the same, pet?”

The undignified squeak that left Sarah's throat was music to the Goblin King's keen ears. Before she turned her face away, blushing, her eyes raked over his wet body, and that helpless display of lust was the sweetest note in the entire symphony. Jareth all but trilled his pleasure. He decided he liked seeing her flustered and fully clothed _almost_ as much as he had enjoyed seeing her half-dressed. It was so good to be back in control. He almost laughed aloud as his delightful guest finally gathered herself enough to clamp a hand over her eyes. She raised the other to point an accusing finger in his direction.

“You … _you_ …!”

“Yes, Sarah. Me. _All_ of me,” Jareth purred. His cock twitched against his warm palm, urging him to take the whole situation in a far more desirable direction for them both, but he knew he had to hammer the lesson home. Business always came before _he_ did.

“You cut that shit out right now, Goblin King, or I swear I'll … I'll …”

“What you'll _do_ , love, is listen and obey for once in your life,” he told her. “I'm entitled to privacy in my own domain, Sarah, but until you're willing to respect that, you can consider this fair warning. In future, if you choose to go poking your nose into my business, uninvited, you'd do well to prepare yourself for just about _anything_. As you can see, I'm through with hiding. It's just not in my nature. So while you're snooping around, examining my private business from all available angles, beware. You just might see something in my _natural_ form that you find you don't like.” His jubilant smirk widened, and he found he couldn't resist the lightest squeeze of his aching shaft. “Or perhaps,” he continued, in a much lower tone, “you might like it far too much, judging from the way you keep on peeking. Yes, I _did_ see you just then. You see, it's so very hard to keep any secrets from me, pet – and even more so if you insist on sneaking your way in to look at mine.”

Sarah slapped her other hand over the first, making it impossible for him to go on accusing her of peeping through her fingers. He hadn't been entirely certain that she _had_ looked, but her reaction only confirmed his suspicions, and it delighted him. Sarah, predictably, was less thrilled. That barrier of flesh covered nearly half of her face, but even so, the burning heat of her glare was almost palpable through it.

“Duly noted,” she croaked out. “Can I go now?”

Jareth chuckled. “If you must. I think we've covered all of the basics. Bear in mind, though, we'll need to schedule a time to discuss your new abilities properly. I meant it when I said there are things you must understand.” With his free hand, he reached up and rubbed at his wet hair, taking the time to stretch out his whole body as he did so. “Given the circumstances, perhaps it would be best if _I_ made the arrangements?” His amusement rang out clear in every word, but poor Sarah seemed to be having some difficulty in producing any words at all.

“Yes. S'fine,” she said, through clenched teeth, and still from beneath her hands. “Leaving. Now.”

He couldn't resist one last bit of mockery. “So soon? I hope it's not all on my account, but very well. You can expect to hear from me very soon, Sarah. I'm afraid you've managed to stumble into something far beyond your mortal grasp, and it needs to be taken properly in hand. There remains so much for you to discover that will truly open your eyes, so many new things to expose your mind to – but all in good time. Until we meet again, then. Be sure to enjoy the rest of your day.” The water swirled around his calves as he turned. “Oh, and Sarah?”

As anticipated, she uncovered her eyes in a shy attempt to meet his, only to be greeted with his naked back and bottom. Her attempt to stifle her gasp was hugely unsuccessful, and Jareth bit down on his laughter. He smirked back at her over one damp shoulder, and _flexed_. “ _Do_ try to behave yourself, love.”

Sarah, bless her bashful heart, did at least _try_ to respond before she willed herself out of his world. Generous as he was, Jareth decided to let her have the last word, even if that word was only an inarticulate growl along the lines of ' _hurmph_!' His merry laughter echoed around the spacious room as he settled himself back down in the water. He'd finally assured himself a little peace. What hadn't been part of the original plan was the substantial erection he'd also managed to gain himself. Jareth considered ignoring it, as he had done so many times over the last few weeks, but quickly reconsidered. The day's sequence of events had given him more than enough material to fuel his fantasies, and now, at long last, he had the opportunity to truly indulge himself. He gave a deep groan of satisfaction as he curled his long fingers around his poor, neglected cock, and he smiled as he allowed himself to slip into a less guarded state. In his current fantasy, there was only one woman he wanted – only _her_ soft hands that now began to work his aching shaft.

“Mmm, _yes,_ just like that. Oh, you can toy with me all you want, Sarah, love, but only one of us will come out on top – and believe me, you have _no_ idea just how much I like being on top.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice, long chapter to hopefully keep you (and Jareth!) satisfied until the next ;) If you're familiar with the original Labyrinth script, you might have noticed that Jareth's nightmare was a little nod towards the ending. Let me know what you think :)


	4. A big tip

Sarah Williams had been _bad_.

After everything Jareth had put her through within his twisted labyrinth, the struggles she had endured, it was only natural to want a little revenge. All those dangers untold and hardships unnumbered left a woman feeling relatively bitter, especially when the man who had thrown them at her _still_ didn't seem to be sorry for all he'd done. Presented with the perfect opportunity to make him pay with his pride, how was she supposed to say no? It was about time the pompous Goblin King was made to do a little kneeling – and who better to do it than the woman who'd already managed to beat him once, back when she was still a teen?

She still didn't know exactly how her new powers had come to be, but while she had them, Sarah was determined to use them. Suddenly, just by stretching out her mind the same way as she would her arm or her leg, she could bridge the gap between worlds. With just a bit of extra effort, she could reach out to the Goblin King himself in the same way she had always called upon her friends from the Underground. Unlike her friends, Jareth didn't always answer – she _knew_ he had deliberately chosen to ignore her call more than once – but she could feel him, sense him at the end of that flimsy line she cast out, his presence far stronger than all the rest of them combined.

The sheer power of that connection continued to floor her every time she felt it rushing through her body. The more effort she put into it, the sharper her sense of him became; if she pushed _really_ hard, she could even send a word or two to him through that tenuous link. Speaking with her mind felt so much different to speaking with her mouth. It was harder to make coherent sentences, for one, but it was much more rewarding. It made her feel strong, special in some way. By shutting out the outside world and focussing on letting him in, she could even hear Jareth's begrudging reply within her head, just as clearly as if he'd spoken directly into her ear.

Though that link between them was intense, and far too intimate for two former enemies to share, it was excitement that it brought her, rather than guilt – at least at first. It was something new and magical, another secret link to a world far beyond what her friends and family would ever understand. Magic had always fascinated her, and to have even a tiny sliver of it to call her own meant more to her than she could ever hope to explain. Sarah meant to explore that power to its fullest, even if the mental exertion began to leave her feeling completely drained most days. She tried to look at it as being in training, pushing herself just that little bit further each time; whenever the inevitable exhaustion took over, she couldn't help but wonder how much stronger she _could_ have been, had she known about that power from the start. Four years – almost five, really – was a long time to have remained ignorant. The Goblin King had a lot to answer for.

The little visits she paid his mind started off innocently enough – just a little nudge now and then to keep him on his toes, and to remind him of her abilities. Yes, she had gotten a little carried away, and yes, she _had_ maybe poked the bear a little too often, frustrated by his lack of response, but in all honesty, her curiosity had just run away with her. She wanted to find out all she could, whether it was more about her powers, or simply what made the mysterious king tick.

After that first accidental meeting in her bedroom, she hadn't been able to draw him into her world again, no matter how hard she tried. She could reach out to him, straining to bridge that distance between worlds as her mind and body groaned in protest, but she just couldn't seem to snag him. Of course, there was still the secret world of his dreams to explore, but even that seemed to be hidden away before she could see too much, veiled by Jareth's desire to keep her out … until one night, that veil had been rudely ripped away.

It made her blush even now to remember that first obscene dream – that _nightmare_ – where she had caught him at his most vulnerable: naked, and buried deep inside some other woman, lost in his lust. It went far beyond the intimacy of their connection – a sight that had not been made for her eyes to see, and yet she had been powerless to look away. She had been hypnotised by the pale contours of his body, the steady rise and fall of his hips; his soft sounds of pleasure – forbidden noises to her ears – had awakened a deep, twisting ache inside her, and she had known even then that there was only one way to soothe it. Just seeing him, _wanting_ him had been bad enough, but when Jareth had caught her watching him and seen the longing in her expression – when it was _her_ eyes he had fallen into just as he surrendered himself to pleasure … as he _came_ …

Call it wishful thinking, but for one wild moment, Sarah thought the woman beneath him had looked an awful lot like her.

She had woken, panting, from that troubling, erotic dream, able to imagine nothing more important than having all she had seen for herself. For the first time, the urge to see inside the Goblin King's mind took second place to wanting him inside her body. Her right hand had been wrapped up in sheets that were as twisted as her thoughts, but without hesitation it had finger-walked its way down her stomach until it could slip into her panties. All fired up by what she had just witnessed, she had found herself already wet, and far too ready to be fucked. It had been so easy to shush her mind's muddled protests while she tended to the needs of her body. Only minutes after seeing him lose control, and with minimal effort from her own slick fingers, she came, all but screaming Jareth's damn name in her head. She only hoped he had been too busy with his dream woman to hear her.

After that embarrassing moment of 'me time', things had moved from bad to worse. Another foiled attempt to spy on the Goblin King had led to an unexpected visit to the Underground, paired with an even closer look at what Jareth had always been hiding – barely – beneath his tight clothing. Sarah didn't think she could even _look_ at a bathtub again without growing just a little bit warmer. A soaking wet, downright seductive Jareth, complete with devilish smile and hardening dick in hand, had been too much for her poor brain to handle. He had warned her right there and then, as she blushed and tried her best not to stare, that there would be no more hiding; he had assured her, in no uncertain terms, that the tables had well and truly been turned.

Sarah had wished herself out of that awkward bathroom run-in so hard that she had almost given herself a concussion: the force of her exit from the Underground had been enough to send her stumbling head-first into her old dresser, nearly cracking open both her mirror and her skull in the process. The bruising on her forehead started to fade after less than a week, but she had a feeling the deeper impact Jareth had left upon her never would. She had gambled on the patience of a king who had no scruples about punishing those who dared cross him, and she had lost – _big_ time. Sarah _really_ didn't like how losing to the Goblin King felt. It was unnerving to know that somewhere above her loomed his thumb, silent and menacing, just waiting to press down and crush her beneath it.

Now that he had found her weakness, he no longer seemed to mind if she had the odd slip up when it came to invading his privacy. She managed to show up twice more in his dreams, but instead of changing the direction of his thoughts or threatening her into a hasty retreat, Jareth was almost … well, _welcoming_. The first time, she found him sprawled out on his throne in a disgusting display of self-indulgence, a topless brunette massaging his temples while another rested on her knees beside his throne, hand-feeding him figs and honey – “ _Would you care to join us, Sarah? You're a little overdressed, but by all means, feel free to remedy that,_ ” he had purred. When he licked the honey from his lips, his eyes did not leave hers, and the suggestive flicker of his tongue made the muscles along Sarah's thighs quiver.

The second dream had been even worse. She found him floating on his back in a vast sea of stars, his hands loosely clasped about the hips of the raven-haired siren that sat astride him. The pair appeared to be lost in their lovemaking. In her fascination, Sarah had witnessed it all, from the steady rocking motion of their bodies, to the growing tension in Jareth's fingers as he urged his lover into a faster, rougher pace. She had felt guilty, shamefully aroused by her spying, and then Jareth had spoken up without even glancing her way. The bastard had seen her coming. “ _No cushions to impede the view this time, Sarah._ _I know how much you like to watch_ ,” he had said, before his head tipped back in bliss, and he forgot all about her.

Looking back, both dreams had a staged feel to them, as if Jareth had steered the path of his thoughts just to mess with her, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had. The man seemed to _love_ messing with her – only now, instead of throwing crystal dreams and senseless staircases at her Underground, his tricks began to leak over into her world. He didn't have the means to harass her unless she reached out first – a handy perk of her long-ago declaration about power – but all it took was a single accidental vision of him in her mind, a particularly depraved thought that was loud enough for him to hear, and he was free to ruin her day. Whether she was at home or away at college, alone or in public, he had an annoying habit of finding her wherever she went.

On those days when she just could not get him out of her thoughts, he made his presence known in several not-so-subtle little ways. More than once, Sarah found herself walking by a newsstand and having to do a double-take, certain that – just for a second, and for her eyes only – one of the faces on the glossy magazines had pouted and winked at her. Grocery shopping on those difficult days was a nightmare, because whenever she passed through the produce section, the peaches had a nasty habit of singing, or sometimes chuckling at her as she hurried by them. Before then, she hadn't seen a single owl in the park she sometimes walked through, yet now the same large barn-owl chose to hang out there almost every night – or at least on the nights she chose to scurry past his tree. He waited for her, he watched her, and if she lingered too long in his domain, he made a great show of preening the pale feathers that covered the lower half of his belly, all while maintaining a frankly quite disturbing level of eye contact. More than once, she had stared into that owl's dark, glassy eyes, and seen the wicked gleam of conquest there.

 _Everything_ had to be under his control, including her. He wasn't pleased when she was at her most confident, pushing the limits of her new powers. No, Jareth was at his happiest when the two of them were right back where they'd been at the start: he at his most regal and imposing, calling all of the shots, and she still assuredly in the role of lost little girl, despite her age. Damn it, the man knew she wasn't sixteen any more – the shameless attempts at seduction made that obvious – but he was _still_ trying to intimidate her. He had to realise that, just like when he'd challenged her with his labyrinth, she would fight back.

Which she totally would.

Just as soon as she'd managed to stop _blushing_.

The truth of the matter was, she no longer trusted herself around the beguiling Goblin King – not in the slightest. It was difficult to come up with a plan to take down your old nemesis when all you kept thinking of was new ways you'd like to fuck him. Sarah thought that opulent marble bathtub of his might have been a good place to start. It was disturbingly easy to picture the two of them naked and entwined, their bodies engulfed by the warm water as they moved as one. When Sarah closed her eyes, she saw herself seated in his lap, his strong arms around her back, his hot mouth free to rain down its torment on her tender throat and breasts, his cock hitting high and deep inside her with every forceful cant of his hips. In her mind, Jareth fucked her time and time again, and he left her body trembling. Sarah just knew it would be incredible, just as she knew that, if she succumbed, he would never, ever let her forget. Even so, even certain of the humiliation it would bring, it was disturbingly _pleasurable_ to imagine just how good it would feel to belong to the Goblin King, just for one night. She had every reason to believe he would be a demanding lover.

What Jareth didn't seem to realise was that she might have some demands of her own.

She already knew that the Goblin King got his kicks from power. It should have been ridiculous to her, really, to realise just how _much_ he seemed to covet power, but even she couldn't deny it was an aphrodisiac. Her initial journey into the world of sex had been a timid one at first, hampered by the fact that both her friends and her dog-eared copy of _Cosmopolitan_ focused more on how to please her man, than how to please herself. Thankfully, it hadn't taken long for her to realise she deserved more than just a vague tingling sensation down there for all her efforts. After that revelation, she and her partners soon realised that she always came hardest when she was on top.

Sarah very much wanted to be on top.

It was impossible not to fantasise about what it would feel like to have a king beneath her, held tight between her thighs, and totally at her mercy. She wondered, as her body cramped with little stabs of pleasure, if Jareth would look just the way she remembered him from the dreams, as she brought him sweet rapture.

Thoughts like that were disastrous to her cause, and unfortunately, they came to her several times a day. It wasn't like she'd even set out to let her attraction to him grow, but between the taunting, the flirting, and those sneaky peeks at his body – not to mention the glimpses into some of his filthiest fantasies – she found herself deep in lust, regardless. There would be nothing on god's green earth even half as humiliating as Jareth finding out that he now played the starring role in her fantasies. The Goblin King's hard-on, both figurative and literal, would likely last for weeks.

' _Yeah, well_ fuck _the Goblin King._ '

Immediately, Sarah winced. She hadn't meant to think that quite so loud. Silence reigned in her head for over a minute, but just as she had finally started to relax her tense shoulders, Jareth was there with a reply:

' _Only if you schedule it around all my other appointments, love – and only then if you ask me nicely._ '

Sugary sweetness powdered his every word, and Sarah was sorely tempted to put a hole through the nearest wall and pretend it was his smug face. The man was insufferable.

The two of them danced around one another for several months – always figuratively, after that last, memorable encounter in his ballroom. Sarah buried her head in her studies, while Jareth continued to do whatever it is that goblin kings are inclined to do, in between tormenting her. She attended classes, participated in all the necessary discussions, and handed in each assignment on time. Evenings and weekends, she served steaks and shakes at a local restaurant, for mostly adequate tips. She dipped her toes into the party scene only when her roommate complained that their place had started to stink an awful lot like _nerd_. She scratched her sexual itch on a couple of occasions with the same purposely dark-haired, hazel-eyed guy, and was content in knowing that their evenings of fun would never amount to anything serious. Just like with her future career, the thought of getting stuck with something long-term when she didn't quite have her heart set on it, was terrifying to her.

How quickly having the Goblin King back in her life – definitely for the long-term, by the looks of it – became 'normal' to her was even more terrifying.

One night, after yet another rendezvous with her friendly neighbourhood stalker-owl, Sarah was already feeling tense by the time she reached work. Her hurried pace led her to be almost forty minutes early, but she snatched up her apron and clocked in anyway. Her shift supervisor owed her a favour or two, but it still annoyed her to waste them on account of _Jareth_. The name had barely formed in her thoughts when she spotted an awfully familiar blond-haired patron, seated alone in her biggest corner booth. She finished tangling her apron strings around her waist, snatched up a menu and a water pitcher to keep up the pretence of playing server, and stomped on over. Jareth glanced up at her approach, a measured look of pleasant surprise fixed on his face.

“Oh, Sarah, good evening. We need to stop meeting like this.”

With that warm, mischievous smile of his, he was almost charming. He was neat and well put together in a dove-grey shirt, left open to his sternum, and perfectly tailored to his body. It looked as soft and velvety as peach skin, and the fluorescent lights above gave each of its pearl buttons its own inviting glow, begging Sarah to pull a few more of them open – preferably with her teeth. His pendant, she noticed, was absent that day. The shirt was paired with boots and tight blue jeans, a far simpler outfit than his usual attire, and yet there was still that unquestionable, otherworldly draw to him that had the trio of teenage girls in the opposite corner gawking and giggling.

It was in the fine bone structure and lean musculature; the piercing blue eyes that had only a touch of dark liner around them that day, instead of his usual elaborate markings. His blond hair was its regular shaggy, enticing mess that, judging from the admiring looks he was pulling in, more than one woman would have liked to tease her fingers through. All in all, it was the right kind of look to gain him the wrong kind of stares, maybe even a muttered insult or two from a narrower-minded clientele – but never loud enough for the Goblin King to hear. In spite of his flamboyant appeal and his slightly eccentric dress, Sarah could feel something powerful in the air that said not to mess with the man at booth three. The slight widening of his smile told her that her appraisal of him had lasted too long.

“You _need_ to get out,” she finally managed.

“Without ordering anything? Don't be rude, I haven't even glanced at a menu yet.” Jareth took said menu from her hands with a delicate pluck of his fingers, but made no effort to read it. Still smiling, he set the laminated card down and folded his hands over it. A moment later, he repositioned those hands and made the action look leisurely; only by pure coincidence did he manage to dodge the heavy pitcher that she slammed down only inches from his fingertips. There was a silver band on his left pinky finger, bearing the same coiled symbol that Sarah remembered from his missing necklace. She only realised she had forgotten a glass when Jareth, helpful as ever, made one of his own appear, seemingly out of nowhere. “Aren't you going to tell me today's specials? I'm most intrigued.”

Sarah gave him a parody of a smile as one of her colleagues passed by, and managed her sweetest customer service voice while they were still in hearing range. “Oh, I think you're already special enough. You did say that you don't have any allergies, didn't you, sir – nuts, dairy, _anything_? We take cross-contamination very seriously here – after all, we don't want to accidentally _kill_ you or something. I wouldn't want _that_ on my conscience.”

His grin was impossibly smug – and also irritatingly attractive. “I rather like you calling me 'sir'. I think I could get used to it.”

“Oh, I'm sure I could come up with some other names for you, given half a chance.”

Her fake laughter died as she looked down at the table. The glass he had conjured was still caught in his power, wobbling back and forth as it tried to find its equilibrium. After a quick glance around, Sarah smacked a hand down over its rim, stopping it before anyone else could notice the movement. “Try to draw a little more attention to yourself, why don't you?” she hissed at him. “You're not exactly average tourist material, and you're already starting to stir up the locals. If you're going to show up here, you could at least try harder to blend in. Look like you're actually … I dunno … _American_.”

Jareth blinked up at her for just a moment, then broke into a worrying smile. “If you insist.”

As Sarah watched, mouth agape, he ducked beneath the table's edge as if to grab something from under there, though the floor around his feet was clear. He emerged with a black baseball cap in one hand and a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators in the other, and proceeded to put both on. The cap had 'I Love NY' emblazoned in white and red above the bill, and what appeared to be oversized Mickey Mouse hands standing out from each of the side panels. The sunglasses were dark enough that the wearer's expression might have been unreadable, were it not for his damned smirking mouth.

Sarah had to admit, if only to herself, it was a shame to see all that wild hair of his tucked back, especially considering the tacky alternative. It looked like he was sporting a full-on _mullet_ under that awful hat. When she looked past his head, she saw that the gorgeous shirt he wore had been replaced by a stained and ugly plaid thing, which in turn was partially covered by a worn denim jacket. The jacket's right lapel was dotted with pins depicting various rock and metal bands; the left was embroidered with a patriotic bald eagle, underneath which rested a faded _Dukakis-Bentsen '88_ button. Jareth's neat fingernails were now painted in a gaudy stars and stripes motif, and there were 'love' and hate' tattoos etched above his knuckles. On his left hand, his ring had retained its symbol – presumably one of royalty – but instead of silver, the band itself now had the cheap, glassy finish of a mood ring. According to that ring, the Goblin King was the colour yellow, and he was feeling mellow.

He was a clusterfuck of clichés, a ghastly mishmash of Americana, and right then he was just too much for her to deal with. As she stared at him, Jareth lowered his shades just enough so he could peer at her over the top bar. He gave her a little wink, and as if the small gesture had prompted them, the hands on his hat came together to offer her a brief round of applause.

“How're your burgers here, Miss?” His grin stretched from ear to ear as he affected an exaggerated Southern drawl. “Well you're just as sweet as apple pie, darlin', but gosh darn it, I've got myself a hankerin' for a different all-American treat to sink my teeth into tonight. Boy howdy, do I!”

Sarah rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Oh, Jesus Christ, stop. Please stop.” Cringing, she took a quick look around, but despite Jareth's new persona being loud enough to be heard from space, she seemed to be the only one who could hear it. Even the Goblin King's teenage fan club had turned back to their fries and their sodas, oblivious to his presence. Clearly, Jareth had done something to hide himself from prying eyes. Of course, the vain king wouldn't want to be actually seen dressed like that in public. It meant that the entirety of his game of dress-up was for her benefit, and it pushed her patience to its end.

Thankfully, Jareth chose that moment to slide back into his usual tone of voice as he continued to taunt her. “Well, I suppose that's a wholly disappointing 'no' on the burger, then. Tell me, does your fine establishment offer milkshakes, by chance? Yes, I believe I'm in the mood for a nice thick, chocolate milkshake.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I'm even willing to share, if you like. One milkshake, two straws, and a nice heart to heart chat about your powers and the issues they bring with them. What do you say? I think it's about time we put aside all the silliness and really talked.”

Sarah sucked at her teeth. “Here's the thing: as much as I'd like to play along with whatever game this is, I'm working and I haven't got the time. So, I'm going to stand here and act polite for a few more seconds, and then you're suddenly going to remember that you left your wallet in your other pair of sparkly tights, and _then_ you're going to make like a tree and get the hell out of here.”

The Goblin King pushed his Ray-Ban's back into place. “So that's a 'no' on the milkshake as well, then?”

It was so hard to keep her voice low when he was determined to do everything in his power to provoke her. She had to chew on her tongue for a few seconds before she trusted herself enough to speak, and even then she had to struggle to keep the volume down. “God _damn_ it, Jareth, I work with hot plates, boiling water and knives – _sharp_ knives!” she hissed. “I can and I _will_ fuck you up – gladly. Just … just get out of here before I take you on a detailed tour of the kitchen!”

Behind the sunglasses, his face seemed to take on a more serious expression. “You seem more tense than usual, and that leads me to think you've been pushing yourself too hard of late. Have the headaches begun yet, precious thing?”

Immediately, Sarah stiffened. Of course, he knew about the strain she felt; he would know exactly what was happening to her. It was both unnerving and a huge relief to hear that at least _someone_ might have an answer for the headaches. A part of her wanted to slide onto the vinyl seating opposite him and spill out all of her troubles, turning her most trying table of the day into a confessional booth. As always, when anywhere in the general vicinity of the Goblin King, she had to ignore the temptation. She forced her tense body back to life, snatching up the water pitcher with a shaky hand. “I told you, I'm done talking to you.”

Seething, she concentrated on plastering a grin onto her face as she walked away, determined to put the new fire he'd given her towards a productive evening at work. Only when she started to approach another table, ready to refill their water glasses, did she realise that her pitcher had gotten a little heavier, and the liquid inside it was no longer clear. Her false smile died before it had fully reached her lips. She was left holding the biggest chocolate milkshake she had ever encountered, complete with a fluffy mountain of whipped cream, a generous drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a ripe, red cherry on top. True to his word, the Goblin King had even been thoughtful enough to include two straws.

When Sarah spun around to thank – or possibly strangle – him for his little party trick, she found the corner booth almost empty. Jareth was long gone, but he had left her a couple of gifts. Placed neatly in the very centre of the table was that ridiculous cap of his, along with a selection of crisp twenty-dollar bills that had been carefully twisted into the shape of a small owl. She was still seething as she slipped the money into her apron. The hat, she tossed on top of a container labelled 'lost and found', in the hope that one of her sleazier customers might take a shine to it and claim it for their own.

In spite of her annoyance at him, she was reluctant to dismantle that little owl, but by the end of her shift her curiosity had eaten its way through her resolve. It turned out that her most difficult customer of the night had apparently valued their short chat at two hundred dollars. Sarah made a mental note to tell the Goblin King that she couldn't be bought, not even at a hundred bucks a minute, and _definitely_ not by him. She kept the money though; after all he'd put her through over the past few weeks, she thought Jareth at least owed her a drink sometime.

Her shift officially finished at ten; minimal side work and a brief cab ride saw her back on campus just after ten-thirty. A shower and a small snack took her past eleven, but she was still far from sleepy. Utterly alone in her dorm room, courtesy of her roommate's demanding new beau, she felt hot, restless, and … empty. She had already pulled on her pjs and had no intention of going out again that night, but there was someone she was itching to see all the same. One little call might just bring him right to her bedside.

Now that her initial frustration had subsided, their earlier spat felt unfinished, somehow. Sarah was aching with the need to dig into him a little further; she had way too many insults still on hold for it to be over already. The silence, not to mention his absence, was getting to her. Studying was an impossibility, and she gave up on it completely after less than twenty minutes, tucking her books back into her desk. She clock-watched for a little while, but nothing could keep up with her racing mind. Boredom seemed to have settled in for the night.

She sighed and threw herself back onto her narrow bed, then kicked off her fluffy slippers with a little more force than strictly necessary. She clasped her hands over her stomach and hummed to herself for a little while. She tried reading for pleasure, but that didn't work for her either. There were certain other things she could have done for pleasure, but with the Goblin King so close to the front of her mind, she refused to even contemplate them. Eventually, she just stared up into space. The silence stretched on. She had to break it.

' _Jerk_ ,' she sent up towards the room's off-white ceiling, but she knew it went far further. Only seconds later, she felt Jareth inside her head.

' _A good evening to you, too. Would you like to throw a few more truly wounding barbs my way, or h_ _ave we calmed down enough to talk like a big girl yet?_ '

At least he was listening, even if he sounded even more smug than usual. Sarah screwed up her nose at the ceiling. ' _Cute. It depends on what you mean by '_ talk _', Goblin King._ '

After a slight pause: ' _Elaborate._ '

Sarah rolled over onto her stomach and tucked her arms beneath her pillows, resting her chin atop the soft pile. ' _If you mean do I want to spend my evening being talked down to about magic, then the answer is no. If you, by some miracle, felt like … oh, I dunno … apologising for showing up at my workplace, uninvited, then I could go for that._ '

The deep, hearty laughter that came in response was strangely pleasant to hear, and it set her insides fluttering. ' _An apology? After poor, downright_ abusive _service from one of the restaurant's most ill-tempered servers, during which I received neither the food nor drink I asked for, yet felt magnanimous enough to leave more than adequate payment for, regardless? An apology for_ that _?_ '

' _Yup_.' Sarah found she was smiling in spite of herself, and in spite of the dull throbbing at her temples. It was nice to listen to that low, rich voice while she was feeling lonely, even if she was unequivocally pissed at the voice's owner. She wriggled around on her belly until she had found a more comfortable place to lie – a place that just so happened to press her panty-clad pussy more firmly against a small lump she found in the covers.

' _Don't hold your breath, love. Now, if you're not going to consent to talk properly, you can just sod off, if you don't mind. I'm very busy here_.'

' _Uh-huh. So busy that you have the time to harass poor college students_.'

'Poor _? Hardly. I suggest you count the bills I left you again, cheeky thing. I wanted it to be the biggest tip you received tonight, so you wouldn't forget about me. We_ do _need to talk._ '

The retort was fully formed before she had the chance to think it through. ' _It wouldn't be the first time you've tried to impress me with a big tip, would it, Jareth?_ '

 _Fuck_. Shocked silence followed at both ends, until Sarah found herself groaning as she pressed her face into her pillows. What the hell had she been thinking? She was flirting with the Goblin King and, judging by the thick pulse that had settled itself between her legs, she _liked_ it. Her hips had begun to rock without her permission, urging her prone body back and forth against that bulge in the covers until she was all but humping her mattress. Mind-play was one thing, but she was just so ready to be _touched_. She could imagine the Goblin King above her: his warm lips pressed to the nape of her neck and his hands covering hers; the firmness of his chest against her back and his hard cock pressed flush to her ass, controlling the arch of her body. She could almost hear the nasty things he would whisper into her ear as he kept her trapped, pinned on her belly beneath him. The image alone made the tender walls of her pussy contract. For one crazy moment, she almost considered asking him to come to her, but thankfully common sense prevailed. She quickly rolled onto her back, but couldn't resist squeezing her thighs together to stave off the worst of her ache as she waited, near breathless, for a response.

' _It's amazing, the lengths a man will go to just to seek out one entirely necessary conversation._ ' The disappointment that single, matter-of-fact sentence evoked in her was crushing. Then, precious seconds later, a low yet impassioned murmur sounded deeper still inside her mind: ' _I_ know _you'd take more than just the tip, love. If I really wanted to impress you, you'd have it all._ '

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Sarah moaned aloud. Her belly felt hot and jittery, her core throbbing with molten waves of desire at just the implication of those few words. She wondered, if she was stupid enough to take their less than innocent conversation further, just how long it would take him to make her an offer in person – and just how eager she would be to accept. It was time to stop, before things really became dangerous.

' _It's getting late. I should probably sleep_ ,' she thought at him. Try as she might, she couldn't quite keep the regret out of her words. There was a shorter pause, and then she heard Jareth's soft chuckle.

' _As you wish. Sweet dreams, precious. No doubt I'll see you soon._ '

Sarah covered her face with both hands and growled into her cupped palms. What _had_ she been thinking? Even a little bit of contact with the Goblin King was too much. It was definitely time to go cold turkey. From that moment on, she vowed to do everything in her considerable power to keep Jareth's name out of her mind, let alone allowing it to pass her lips – oh, and how that smug man would just _love_ to slide his way past her lips.

Keeping him out of her life was easier said than done. For the last few months, he had been on her mind more often than off it; Sarah found that she had to retrain herself in the simple art of thinking, all to ensure that a certain name was totally excluded from her thoughts. It scared her to realise that it wasn't always possible. If you told your brain it was absolutely, positively _not_ allowed to think of a polar bear, then you could guarantee without a doubt that the first thing to pop, uninvited, into your head would be big, furry and white. In Sarah's case, it was visions of kings and owls she was plagued with, no matter how much she tried to unthink them.

More than once, she had to practically shut her brain down, hauling herself back from whatever particularly dangerous path she had begun to stray down, before _he_ could catch wind of her. Her walkman and her radio started out as her new best friends, drowning out most, but not all, of her mind's mindless chatter with an unbroken rota of pop and soft rock. Eventually though, even that became too much work, what with the constant need to edit the content before it reached her ears. Slushy love songs were a definite no-no, along with anything even remotely sexy. Once – and _only_ once – just the opening chords of Animotion's 'Obsession' had been enough to ignite heat in her cheeks, and send her stomach into a wild and guilty tumble.

It was ridiculous. The last time she had been so fixated on a boy – or at least the idea of one – had been back in fifth grade. Even now, she still remembered the blond-haired, blue-eyed little hellion that had been Jimmy Simmons; she had doodled that name all over her notebook after he'd stolen her young heart with his rebel without a curfew ways. Her adolescent attraction had come to a swift end around the time Jimmy had begun to return her affections – albeit in the clumsy and crude way that all pre-teen boys seem partial to. Sarah wondered if, given enough time, the Goblin King might also start to pull on her hair, or snap her bra straps, or, if he was feeling particularly affectionate, mumble something unintelligible as he slugged her on the arm. Even at the tender age of eleven, she'd already been too switched on to tolerate that kind of happy horse-shit. She certainly wasn't going to fall head over heels for it now.

Of course, Jareth would never take kindly to being ignored.

It was more than a little satisfying to have the Goblin King himself reduced to sending one of his minions to beg for her attention, even if it meant being surprised by a goblin in her dorm room. The stumpy, grey creature's name was Clasp, and Clasp refused to leave until Miss Sarah read the king's letter, which was clutched in his grimy fist. At least, he _initially_ refused, but Sarah's offer of half a candy bar, all the loose change in her purse, and a shiny, almost new tube of lipstick – ' _for the missus_ ,' so Clasp claimed – proved to be far too tempting. In his excitement over his new treasures, Clasp accidentally took the precious letter with him, and no doubt put himself firmly in Jareth's bad books for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, Sarah acted quickly enough to prevent the Goblin King from sending another, more reliable messenger in Clasp's place.

' _Starting now, none of your subjects have permission to contact me unless I speak to them first._ No power, _Jareth_. _I mean it. Leave me the hell alone._ ' Angry as she was, the message hurt like a bitch to send, piercing shards of ice deep into the meat of her brain, but she was positive it had gotten through.

She received a curt ' _as you wish_ ' in return, and then the waiting game began anew. Intentional or not, both of them knew she would one day make the mistake of calling on him again.

Time passed as she continued to hold him at bay. Just as it had after her journey into the labyrinth, life went on – though this time, she remained firmly cut off from all things Underground, even her friends. Back in her hometown again, without the distraction of her studies, the temptation to call on Hoggle, Ludo and Sir Didymus rose as strong as ever, but she refrained. Reopening that connection between worlds was just the first step on a dangerous path that would inevitably lead back to _him_. There was still that realm of unexplored magic within her reach, but it had to remain off-limits. There was no other way. She felt like a child who had been gifted the greatest toy of all, only to be told that it had to remain in its original packaging. Without their daily use, her new powers would only languish. At long last, Sarah thought it might finally be her time to grow up, forgetting all about magic once and for all – and she hated it.

Her twenty-first birthday passed with little fanfare, and that was just fine in Sarah's eyes. She shared her first legal bottle of wine with her family in a relatively upmarket restaurant. The crisp tartness on her tongue, combined with the stable direction of her life, tasted very much like adulthood. She spent the rest of the night in subconscious denial of the fact, she and Toby fuelled by cokes and fistfuls of quarters as they charged around their favourite arcade. Her baby brother even managed to make a couple of baskets on the _Hoop Fever_ machine, and the two of them crowed in delight at the addition it made to their ticket pile. It was the least mature, least _magical_ ending to an evening that Sarah could imagine, and it was perfect. She refused to let that one weird coincidence at the claw machine tell her otherwise.

It cost her almost six dollars to finally snag the bright red dragon plush that Tobes had his heart set on. A random little thought – _I wonder if they have dragons Underground_ – was all it took to bring Jareth's name back into her mind. As the large metal claw carried the dragon over to the prize chute, she saw with some alarm that it had a tiny stuffed owl wedged under one of its scaly wings.

“ _Two_ prizes! _Cool_!” Toby whooped, before reaching down to claim them both.

Sarah grimaced as she peered over Toby's scrawny shoulder for a closer look at the unexpected extra. The toy was meant to be a barn owl, judging by the mostly white fluff that represented its feathers – another eerie coincidence. More worrying were the sapphire blue highlights to its fluff, and the soft touch of glitter above each of its large, glass eyes, making it an exceptionally _pretty_ owl. It might have been the perfect addition to anyone's stuffed animal collection, were it not for the slight manufacturing fault: the glossy black orb that was the bird's left eye was significantly larger than the right.

Toby took one look at the lovely owl, winced, and quickly thrust the toy into Sarah's hands. His little chest puffed out with what macho pride his weekly dose of Saturday morning cartoons had instilled in him. “ _Here_ ,” he muttered. “'Cause you're a _girl_. And … uh …'cause it's your birthday.”

A look of worry flashed across his small face for fear of seeming ungrateful, and he was sure to hug his new toy extra tight as he thanked his big sister. The dragon gave an adorable roar when he pressed down on its plush tummy. Sarah had no desire whatsoever to find out what her new owl might have to say, were she to push on its fluffy belly. She could barely hold the thing without shivering.

She took the toy home to keep Toby happy, but the minute she was alone in her bedroom, she stuffed it down into the back of one of her little-used drawers, figuring it would be at home amidst all her old stuffed animals. She tried to hold onto her belief in coincidences even when the new addition to her collection seemed to possess the same magical, pussy-seeking powers as a certain deviant of a king. She later found the owl nestled into her silkiest pair of panties, a full drawer down from where she had first placed it.

She told herself it would have been easy enough for the stuffed toy to tumble down the back of that first, overfilled drawer, and that the tiny owl _had_ worn that same, smug expression when she'd first laid eyes on him. _It_. Whatever. She was embarrassed to admit that the little guy looked so comfortable, surrounded by her panties, bras, pantyhose and stockings, all that feminine silk and lace, that she was reluctant to move him back to the other drawer. As much as she hated to admit it, it looked like the owl had found his new home. She dubbed Jareth Junior the official Keeper of the Frilly Things – though she was careful to keep that drawer firmly and fully closed whenever she pulled any of said frilly things on. The little bastard – _both_ bastards, in fact – had already seen enough.

A week after the unfortunate owl event came a late but much-anticipated birthday treat: _Fusion_.

Her tickets had been reserved for months; the minute Sarah had heard that the famous _Cirque du Soleil_ were finally bringing their new tour to her home state, there had been no other option but to go. The gushing reviews made it all sound so magical, and god knew just how much she needed just a taste of that to get her through the days. For months, long before her reacquaintance with the Goblin King, she had kept a flyer for _Fusion_ tucked away alongside the tickets, and she would take it out every so often just to look at it. If the pictures of the performers in their intricate costumes and strange masks stirred up any old memories, Sarah refused to dwell on them. It was time to look _forward_ to something for once, and not back.

The tickets for the show had cost a lot, the hotel room they'd booked into even more, but it was all worth it when the day finally arrived. As Sarah's three closest friends insisted on pointing out, loudly and often – Kristen and Tiffany and their luggage squeezed tightly into the back seat of Robin's dad's borrowed Buick, while Sarah sat up front – she only turned twenty-one once. As afternoon turned to evening, and with only a few hours left until the show began, the four of them were ready to celebrate in style.

Unfortunately, the bars of New York just weren't ready for them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of a two-parter. I'm hoping to have the next part, including some strange circus antics, ready to be published by the end of the weekend.
> 
> P.S: Jareth's fudged-up 'Murican accent here comes to you as a loving tribute to Phillip Jeffries ;) And no, my own attempt at a US accent isn't any better!


	5. Fusion

After a few minutes of useless flirting with the hotel bartender, Tiffany came traipsing back to their table, shaking her head. “Hey, I tried.” She shrugged as she settled back into her seat. “At least we're getting _a_ drink, and he isn't kicking us out. We shouldn't give up, though. There are other places we can try after this. The birthday girl needs a real drink.” As usual, she was determined to keep on trying, even past the point of sense, and her staunch optimism was met with a low groan.

“We've tried everywhere already, and these heels are already killing my feet,” Kristen groaned. “It's no use. Oh, this is all my fault. I'm completely ruining your birthday, Sarah. It's all just … ugh … _ruined_.” Ever the optimist, she stared down into her lap with a forlorn expression, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. She was the only one out of their group who hadn't yet turned twenty-one. Her lack of ID meant the strongest thing they'd been able to order earlier at the restaurant had been sodas, and since then had gotten them kicked out of two classier cocktail bars and one dive. The quiet hotel bar seemed like their best bet – possibly because the place was almost empty – even if the guy mixing drinks refused to serve them anything stronger than orange juice.

A few minutes later, four decidedly virgin mimosas were set down in front of them. The table seemed to blink and then sigh as a whole.

Robin poked at the orange slice that garnished the rim of her glass and said nothing. True to her quiet nature, she had said a whole lot of nothing over the last hour or so. There was awkward silence amongst the group, made all the more obvious by the soft strains of music – a slow, fairly dreary Phil Collins number – coming from the speakers nearby. Robin offered only a non-committal hum as she finally tasted her drink – the first one of them to do so. Tiffany had a certain gleam in her eye that said she was about to start up her bar suggestions again, even if it meant hiking three miles in every direction, and Kristen looked gloomy enough to throw in the towel completely. Once again, it was up to Sarah to keep the whole gang happy.

“You know tonight's not about the drinking, at least for me. It's about the show.” She took a sip of her mimosa. It wasn't half bad. “The drink is nice, this place is nice, _Fusion_ is going to be amazing, and I get to see it with you guys. I don't need anything else. Besides, if you want to talk about _really_ ruining things-” She cut herself off abruptly. Alarmed, she realised she had been close to spilling the details of how she'd spent the evening of her actual birthday. She didn't think her friends would understand having to cower away from something as innocent as a pretty little stuffed owl – not that the owl was actually innocent.

 _Jareth is_ never _innocent. Oh … oh,_ shit.

All three of her friends looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue, but Sarah shook her head and gulped at her drink. “Uh … forget it. I'm just really glad you guys are here. It … it means a lot to me.”

She smiled and nodded her head along with the conversation as it began to slowly squeak forwards again, but inside her head she was screaming. That had been too close a call for comfort; she worried that she'd crossed too far over that line between thinking about Jareth and actually giving him an excuse to approach her. Only time would tell. More and more of the mimosa disappeared in quick, nervous sips as Sarah went into lookout mode. Any minute, she fully expected to be ambushed by a handsome blond server and a free mystery cocktail that was ten percent peach juice, and ninety percent revenge. She didn't think Jareth would go as far as actually trying to poison her, at least not in public, but after freezing him out of her life for so long, making him come begging for her attention, she knew their reunion would be more than a little awkward. She wished, futilely, that her drink contained alcohol after all. She brought her glass up to her lips again, then realised that she had already managed to drain the whole thing in her distraction.

Tiffany laughed. “Thirsty?”

Sarah gave her a bashful smile. “Yeah … I guess so.” Her eyes drifted back towards the man behind the bar. Still tall, dark, and decidedly _not_ Jareth. The coast seemed clear, at least for now. “Does anyone want another-” She had already started to rise from her seat, but what caught her eye froze her in place. She had been so busy waiting for a certain blond to just emerge behind the bar, to make himself appear out of nothingness before her very eyes, that she had completely missed the fact that he was _already in the room_.

The moment she spotted him, realised that he'd followed her even here, was the moment she realised there really was no escaping at least one last confrontation with the Goblin King. His long hair had been cut to lie just below his collar, and thick tendrils of cigarette smoke formed a dark halo around him, but Sarah would have recognised that profile anywhere. He had casually invaded one of the few other occupied tables, charmed its occupants into accepting him as one of their own as he waited for her to approach. Despite the lack of alcohol in her system, Sarah staggered considerably as she rose to her feet. She really did need another drink, because every last drop of moisture had been pulled from her throat the second she set eyes on him. Her friends' voices began to fade away, and as if on cue, the sound of soft, unobtrusive pop was replaced by something a little raunchier. Sarah could feel her pulse quickening behind her temples and at her throat, as though to match the new drumbeat that invaded her. She had never before associated 'Black Velvet' with the Goblin King, but now she feared the two would be forever interlaced within her head.

It was a song that had been huge around last Christmas – a slow, bluesy tribute to the lost king of rock and roll, with seductive vocals, a catchy chorus, and one hell of a bass-line. Though the singer crooned out her praise of The Pelvis' infamous hip gyrations, his music and his legacy, the only king on Sarah's mind was seated right in front of her eyes. It was as though Jareth had dressed in deliberate tribute to the music, clad all in black yet far from 'velvet Elvis' level kitsch in a dress shirt, monk strap shoes, and sinfully tight denims. The playful, little boy's smile that winked on and off around his cigarette only completed the picture.

Apparently blind to her scrutiny, the Goblin King was perfectly at ease with the attractive young goth couple he shared a table with. Absorbed in whatever story he was telling, he spoke with his hands a lot, Sarah noticed, his cigarette nodding with every animated gesture. More than once, his rough, throaty laughter permeated the air. The sound turned her blood to syrup, thick and heavy as it flowed through her body, piquing the interest that had already begun to tingle beneath her skirt. He looked good – _really_ good, if she was honest – and if he had been a total stranger and human to boot, she might have seriously considered dragging him back to her rented room, uncaring of the inevitable flack she'd catch from her friends. God _damn_ the Goblin King! Her friends had no idea that the handsome stranger sharing their bar wasn't a stranger at all; they wouldn't know that he was sitting in on _her_ night out without the slightest business being there, spoiling her evening once more. Well, _she_ knew, and she was determined not to let him get away with it again.

She was across the room in nineteen sober but shaky steps, walking onward once more into the Goblin King's domain of magic and torment – only _this_ time, she was going to hammer home her victory over him, once and for all.

“Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you are _not_ the king here, and this needs to stop.” She swooped in to clasp his shoulder, catching the attention of his startled companions, but all she cared about was twisting him around in his seat to look at her, seeking out the confrontation, the _confusion_ -

Her eyes widened as she realised the man she was holding onto – the one whose expensive-looking shirt she was wrinkling with her angry grip – _was_ a stranger after all. Up close, there wasn't even a hint of the Goblin King in his facial features: the nose was too big and the lips were too thin; the cheeks were pale, high and hollowed, but in a way that spoke of heavy drug use rather than good bone structure. Even the fine blond hair that had first caught her eye hung dull and limp under her appraisal. It seemed that the Goblin King, wherever he was, had found some new tricks to play. The strange man stared up at her with wide, dark eyes, relaxed despite the fingers digging into his person. He sniffed and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Do I know you, sweetheart?” he asked. His tone was even enough, given she'd almost assaulted the guy, but Sarah had already begun to back away, shaking her head.

“No. No, I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to … I thought you were … someone …” Turning abruptly, she stalked her way back to her friends, her head hanging low, her face on fire. There, back at her own table, she dug into her purse and extracted enough money – _Jareth's_ money, she realised, with a despairing sense of irony – to cover her drink, plus an extra few bills. She dropped the money onto the table, against the protests of her friends.

“Sarah, what the hell's gotten into you? Are you feeling okay?”

“Shit, Sar, you're white as a sheet. Are you sick? Do you want me to get you some water? What did that guy _do_ to you?”

“Hey, sit down before you fall down. Do you know him?”

“No. I thought … actually, I don't know what the hell I was thinking,” Sarah managed at last. “Long story, and I really don't want to get into it right now.” She gestured weakly at the money. “Just … please … buy their table some drinks on me, as an apology. I'm leaving. I feel like enough of an asshole already. Need to walk it off – clear my head before the show. I'll see you guys at the theatre.”

She hurried on out of there despite their protests, one hand holding her purse in a death grip, the other pressed to her burning cheek, shielding her face from the other table's curious looks. As she dashed through the hotel lobby and pushed her way past its heavy glass doors, she swore that the Goblin King's dark laughter stalked her out onto the night streets.

No one was more surprised than Sarah herself when she made it into the venue without having a nervous breakdown. Her friends were still concerned – understandably so – about her disappearing act, but Sarah was grateful when they didn't press her too hard for answers. Even Kristen, the undisputed worrier of the group, could see that she was too spooked to be interrogated. She linked a protective arm through Sarah's own as they climbed the wide steps towards the Dress Circle to find their seats.

That funny little case of mistaken identity had shaken her royally, and despite how much she'd been looking forward to it, Sarah just couldn't get back into the mood for the show. She stayed mostly quiet as Tiffany and Kristen tried their best to keep the excited chatter going without her input. Even Robin came out of her quiet shell and really outdid herself on the conversation front. Over and over again, Sarah fought against her brain as it tried to drag her away from what should have been a precious moment with her friends; she didn't _want_ to focus on someone she hardly knew whether to call friend or foe – someone she hardly knew, period.

His face was everywhere within her mind, that cursed name so close to being drawn across her tongue that she could _taste_ it. She was virtually on the edge of her seat, her head flitting from side to side like a bird's as more and more people poured into the auditorium. They sat in front of her and they lurked beside her, _behind_ her, hundreds of pairs of eyes darting along the back of her neck, crawling along her skin, and she probably already looked crazy enough without craning her head around to try to see them all. She realised that her hands were sweating, hot and slippery as they clenched and unclenched around the strap of her purse, drawing the thing higher up her lap until it was digging into her stomach, clutched the same way her lungs were locked tight beneath her ribs and still _shrinking-_

A swift elbow to her side made her gasp, forcing air back into her chest, and it got her attention back just in time for her to notice the house lights going down. The show was about to start. Sarah flashed Kristen a grateful smile and then directed her eyes towards the stage. She had time to savour a warm surge of gladness that she had friends who would rather be doing this on a Saturday night, rather than looking for the nearest kegger. She was grateful that, no matter what Jareth might do to her, no matter what hell she might have to face for letting him back in, there were rare moments like this – the white space between an open book and its first word; the breathless seconds before you allowed yourself to tumble down into a new and unknown world. Excitement held her on the dark edge of nowhere, embraced her, and then it let her go. Sarah felt herself fall, but it was with a smile on her face. Then, she was lost in the show.

Time ceased to exist as she watched the antics of the performers, sketched out across a gorgeous musical canvas, laid bare under an ever-shifting glow of red and blue lights. They were beautiful in their vivid colours as they manoeuvred their toned bodies for the audience's pleasure. They were mysterious behind their heavy make-up and strange masks, but they were strikingly _human_ beneath all their sewn-on sequins, ribbons and feathers. There was nothing to fear there. Sarah felt like a big kid at her first real, grown-up circus, gasping and clapping along with all the rest as the acrobats leapt and soared, and tumbled safely back down to earth. She glowed with pleasure as she watched the scarlet-clad contortionists twist themselves into impossible positions, their bodies writhing like living flames; she fell slightly in love with the woman who danced in the air without fear, and tied herself up in midnight-blue aerial silks. Sarah clasped her hands between her breasts as if in prayer, and just _looked_ at them. She couldn't keep the goofy grin off her face. She didn't _try_ to. It was all so magical.

Though nothing was said in words – at least none Sarah understood; the singing was all Grammelot – the driving music and the talented artists that moved to it were enough to convey the storyline. _Fusion_ , on its surface, was a melding of fire and ice in the age-old tale of good versus evil, the power of light pitted against the dark. The Demon King who controlled the Netherworld had set loose his wicked little minions, and the noble Archangel who ruled above had made it her duty to protect the Kingdom of Light. Both kingdoms went to war, confounding the audience with their perfectly choreographed battle. The stage descended into complete chaos as the two factions fought, but of course, it was all part of the evil king's plan.

Far away from the noise of the battle, the Demon King had his coal-black heart set upon the beautiful Archangel, and made it his mission to win her love through whatever trickery or temptation he could conjure. He took up his crusade at centre stage, striking in his fiery scarlet costume as the Archangel sat suspended above him, swathed in icy blues. She performed a delicate dance within her silver _cerceau_ as the Demon King did his best to tempt her down with forbidden fruits. His pale hands were a blur as they kept a half-dozen juggling balls in motion high above his head, each one soaring close enough for the angel to snatch it out of the air, if she really wanted to. The balls were a glossy, impenetrable black, devoid of the goodness of any _normal_ fruit, but to Sarah's wide, enchanted eyes, they might as well have been peaches. As much as she wanted to warn the angel never, _ever_ to take that tainted fruit, the small part of her heart that fluttered with dark and unthinkable longing hoped for nothing else. It scared her, just how much she wanted the other woman to succumb.

As it was, the silver hoop began to rise back up towards the ceiling, carrying the Archangel along with it, and the defeated Demon King had no choice but to skulk back into the shadows. Sarah pulled in a shaky breath and heard it catch in her throat even over the thunder of the applauding audience. When she recovered enough to clap her hands together along with all the rest, she found that her fingers were almost numb. Her poor heart felt like it had started to pound out an uptempo samba. The Demon King wasn't even blond, and yet she could clearly picture a certain other monarch in his place – one that might just have given the devil himself a run for his money when it came to forbidden temptation. _His_ fruit was one that, despite knowing better, Sarah was greedy to taste.

Thinking of his temptation caused a now familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach. She knew she shouldn't, couldn't go on thinking about him if she wanted to get through the rest of the night with her sanity still intact, but her mind had already been set on fire. Everything about that substitute king was a painful reminder: the effortless grace and skill of his juggling; the tightness and subtle eroticism of his costume, combined with the outlandish make-up that streaked his face; the potent mix of allure and amazement he aroused with his performance – maybe the closest that simple humans could come to real magic … unless they knew the right otherworldly king to ask.

“Fuck … _Jareth_ ,” she breathed.

That forbidden name had barely touched her tongue when the entire stage went dark, and the enthralling music was replaced by a deep and brooding silence.

_Oh, fuck, I've done it now._

In the predatory darkness, Sarah was positive that she could hear her heart, with just how hard it began to pound. How stupid she had been before, to think that the Goblin King would hide from her among the audience when now – _now_ – she could feel his regard so clearly. The auditorium began to buzz with confusion and impatience; there was muttering about power outages and technical malfunctions from people who were completely blind to just how badly one of their own had fucked up. Only two souls residing in that building knew the true score, and just how much danger might prowl, hateful and hungry, in that darkness. It made their short and cringeworthy meeting at the restaurant seem downright subtle; Sarah had the distinct feeling that this time, the Goblin King had no issue with making their ongoing disagreement a _lot_ more public.

' _Jareth_ ,' Sarah quickly sent. ' _Please don't do this. I'll meet you wherever the hell you want,_ whenever _the hell you want. We can talk all night if you want to, only please –_ please _– don't do this here._ '

It was one desperate wish that the Goblin King refused to grant her.

Emergency lighting flickered on overhead, and immediately began to hum and sizzle with too much energy; Sarah just had time to register the bewildered faces of her friends before the bulbs started to explode. Scattered shrieks sounded amidst the popping of glass. There was some scuttling at the edges of the stage as artists and crew members alike tried to seize control of the situation, and then an unearthly, glowing mist began to rise up through the stage itself, casting back the blackness and halting everyone in their tracks. The mist stretched out silvery fingers into the audience, most of whom settled back into their seats as they waited for the performance to continue. Only Sarah seemed to realise that the _real_ show, the terrifying one, had just begun. She peered through that glowing fog along with her seatmates, and felt her heart lurch up into her throat when she realised a solitary figure had taken centre stage. When the few spotlights that remained whole flared back to life, they each turned their focus on him.

The lights to his left side were the warm glow of firelight, the ones on his right the deep, inky blue of shadows, and yet the Goblin King was illuminated in pure, brilliant white. His chosen garb that night was simple yet eye-catching, barefoot and bare-chested as he was in only a pair of form-fitting leggings. They winked and glittered with the diamond brightness of a snowfield with even the slightest shift of his legs. The ends of his pale hair were tipped with frost, and minuscule crystals dotted the corners of his eyes and mouth, and glistened at his temples, emphasising the severe lines and cold charm of his face. He was unsmiling, untouchable in his elegance, and good Christ, he was beautiful.

Before Sarah could even think to squeak out a greeting, music spilled from nowhere and everywhere at once, the ambient thrum of a keyboard behind almost otherworldly guitar licks. There was a deep voice – a woman's. Startled, Sarah turned towards it, and saw the Goblin King had roped one of the performers into carrying out whatever evil he had planned, forcing her to sing at his will. One look into that woman's face was enough to see she had no clue what she was doing. Her hands were clasped loosely to her throat as strange sounds of seduction were pulled from her painted lips. With her adoring eyes fixed on the resplendent king who had stolen the show, pure devotion staining every note she sang, she did not seem to be suffering – _much_. Sarah managed to send only a single, nonsensical sound of protest towards the Goblin King.

Jareth met her eyes. ' _I warned you to let_ me _pick the venue for our next meeting_ ,' he sent at her, and though his expression was icy, there was a mischievous flicker of heat about him. ' _But as usual, you didn't listen. I tried to make this happen sooner, but you were too stubborn to have it out with me in a place that might have offered us a little more privacy. Well, now that we're both here, let's get on with the show, shall we? I wouldn't want the audience to be disappointed._ '

Though there was no dark love in his eyes, he looked up to her in her humble seat as if she were his angel, just as the Demon King had only minutes before. His face was upturned and intense, his naked arms stretched out towards her as though in plea. There was something held within his cupped hands, only Sarah couldn't seem to make out what it was. It could have been something as innocent as another juggling ball, or perhaps a much more tempting slice of forbidden fruit – a new attempt to coax her down into the darkness, where the Demon King had failed. Before Sarah's startled eyes, the object he held burst into golden flame.

To her alarm, Jareth created four more of the fiery orbs, and he began to juggle.

Sarah understood at once that this was not entertainment, but a shameless display of his power. The paid performers had only played at controlling fire and ice, but the Goblin King had to prove his mastery over the elements. Just like within his dreams, he moved to the rhythm that best suited him, for his own purposes rather than for her amusement; her subjugation was his only goal. Even now, he wanted to rule her. As he kept the spheres of fire up in the air, he crossed the stage in slow, steady steps. When the strip of lights that marked the platform's edge should have stopped him, he stepped out onto thin air instead. The air quickly froze beneath his bare foot, forming a solid layer of ice that hung, suspended, several inches away from the stage, with nothing to support it. After that one impossibility, and with the pounding music building to a terrifying crescendo, he just kept on coming.

Every flick of his wrist sent a fresh, blazing orb into the air above him; every footstep conjured a new, icy shelf to bear his weight. The steps he climbed carried him upwards at a sharp incline, directly over the audience in the Stalls, who arched back in their seats and gaped up at him in amazement. The Goblin King ignored those first few rows entirely. The lower balcony of the Dress Circle – _Sarah's_ Dress Circle – was where he was headed. His feet moved with determination, uncaring of the frozen, and no doubt slick surface they crossed. When fire rained down towards his hands, he did not hesitate to catch it, rolling the balls of flame across his bare wrists and forearms to make room in his hands for the next. The fire became a part of him, glowing in his eyes and through the golden strands of his hair, and yet he did not burn; the ice beneath him glittered with its shocking cold, yet not so bright and pure as his skin. He was tundra and inferno both, that power he possessed incredible, _ethereal_ , and it robbed Sarah of what little breath remained in her lungs.

She and the audience could have watched him all night, maybe even forever, but it didn't take long for him to grow bored with the showy display. Once he had reached her balcony, he balanced himself upon it with ease, and he banished the fire and frozen water he had created with the insouciance of a man brushing lint off his jacket. The music came to an abrupt end. Faced with the Goblin King in person, now standing only six or seven rows away from her, Sarah did not feel quite so confident about confronting him as she had back in the hotel bar. Likewise, now that the impossible display of magic was over, the audience had descended into stunned silence, rather than applause. Jareth had made no effort whatsoever to hide what he was from them.

' _Stop it!_ ' Sarah threw at him. ' _Can't you see? You're confusing them – scaring them._ '

Jareth turned a sly smile in her direction. ' _Are you sure of that, Sarah? Perhaps you should look again. You seem to be the only one displeased by my presence here._ '

He was right; the sneaking shit always seemed to be right. A quick glance around the auditorium was enough to show her that he had the whole audience under his thrall. The people above were virtually hanging over their balcony to see him, and the ones below had their faces craned up in wonder. The people around her were dazed, yes, but they were unafraid. To Sarah's right, she heard a soft, appreciative sigh, and when she looked over at her friends, it was like seeing them hypnotised. Their eyes were shiny, adoring, and fixed solely on their new king. It was unsettling to see how easy it was to fall under his spell, and just how far he was willing to go to prove his strength to her.

' _It takes a lot of work to control a crowd of such size_ ,' Jareth sent, as if he had read her mind. ' _It is possible though, with the right training, and provided you have the proper reserves for it. Observe._ '

The Goblin King raised his hands, and the entire audience, apart from Sarah, rose with him. Sarah almost moaned her dismay. At her side, her friends swayed on their feet like they were drunk, their hands loose and twitching at their sides, their eyes still locked on the cruel creator of their plight. They were his puppets, bowing their heads and bending at the knees to obey even the slightest twitch of his fingers. The Goblin King held no power over _her_ , but the rest of the audience were his to command. It was twisted just to sit back and let him do it, but for a minute, Sarah felt almost as helpless as his victims. He was just so goddamn _powerful_. She should have expected as much; she had already seen him twist time and gravity to suit his purposes, but she had never taken the time to consider just how much more he must be capable of. If the tiny bursts of magic she had made could one day be even _half_ that powerful …

She quashed those kind of thoughts before they could fully form. There she was, admiring Jareth's skill, while he took advantage of her friends and all the innocent people around them. ' _Stop it,_ ' she demanded again, and finally rose to her feet to oppose him.

' _Surely you don't want the fun to end just yet, do you, Sarah? We haven't even reached the climax. As impressive as the show has been so far, I think we're missing one last aerial act._ '

Grinning, he clapped his hands, and all but two of the audience sank back into their seats with boneless compliance. He turned his back on her, his attention now pointed towards the stage, and Sarah followed his gaze. In the very front row of the Stalls, a man and a woman still stood, swaying as if to music only they could hear. When Jareth shooed them away from their seats, they lurched forwards on shaky legs until they each stood at opposite ends of the stage. They climbed up as Jareth made a brief beckoning gesture at the ceiling.

Down from the rafters, the aerial silks Sarah had found so appealing earlier now slithered like vile blue snakes, ready to ensnare and carry the spontaneous performers up to their fate. Sarah groaned in horror as the man and woman each gripped one. Once they got up in the air, one flick of Jareth's wrist, a single stray, distracting thought, and his puppets would find their strings cut, and there was no safety net to guard them from the inevitable fall.

' _I hope I manage to get this right_ ,' Jareth thought at her. ' _I imagine it'll get a little tricky to keep them both up in the air if they're not in perfect unison. Still, I think they look resilient enough to survive a_ short _fall, don't you?_ '

' _No!_ ' Sarah sent back at him, then: ' _Safe. Please, god,_ safe _,_ ' towards the poor couple. She could hear herself starting to pant with the effort of that thought. Pain bloomed and grew between her eyes, and there was hot, oily sweat at her temples and beneath her arms. It was like she was being squeezed but from the inside, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts as her lungs swelled and tried to climb their way out of her throat. Fear tried to clamp its cold hands around her body, but she shook it off to reach out to the Goblin King instead. In some wishful place inside her mind, she already had her fingers wrapped around his pale throat. ' _This ends now, Jareth. Let them go. Let them all go right now, and go back to where the hell you came from._ '

Jareth levelled his gaze at her. ' _I don't think so, Sarah. I don't think that's necessary. Look closer._ '

Sarah cast another panicked look at first the man, and then the woman on stage. Their hands were still wrapped around the silks, but they had not begun to climb, and the silks had not yet started to rise. For the time being, they were safe. Even so, Sarah could see their bodies trembling with the urge to go on. It was only a matter of time. ' _Stop them,_ ' she pleaded. ' _Please, Jareth, you have to stop them!_ '

“No.” For the first time that evening, Jareth spoke out loud. “Look again, Sarah, and tell me what you see. Look beyond them, and see what controls them. _Focus_.”

She shook her head. “What-”

“ _Focus_ , damn you!”

At his command, that strange, squeezing thing inside her gave another fierce surge. “All right, all right!” Pain screamed behind her eyes, drilling deep into her sinuses and echoing around her skull, but she squinted and forced herself to look at the couple. She strained to see past the glassy eyes and gaping mouths, past even her own anger and fear, and at last, she _saw_. The man and woman were both enveloped, head to toe, in a strong, silver light. It seemed to glow from each thin strand of their hair, radiating from every last pore – a clear sign of the magic that possessed them. That heavy layer of silver could belong only to the Goblin King, and yet on its surface, only if she squinted, Sarah saw the faintest glimmer of gold. She gasped, her jaw becoming unhinged. “I … I … is that …?”

“It's yours,” Jareth said. His voice still carried across the distance between them, but it had lost its edge. If Sarah wasn't mistaken, he sounded almost relieved. “Your power, Sarah. Your protection over them. It's weak right now, but it's there. You can let them go now. I'm not going to hurt them – I give you my word.”

Trembling, Sarah shook her head again. The force within her chest trembled with her, and for a minute her vision seemed to blur. She blinked and struggled on, swaying on her feet now. “Y-you need to leave them alone,” she said, and her voice was thick with unshed tears. “All of them. I need your word that they'll all be safe.”

Jareth offered her a small smile. “Sarah,” he said, gentler still. His eyes held hers. “Look around you. Look what you're doing for them.”

Her head ached more than ever, but she did as he told her. She turned to her friends, her row, and then the auditorium as a whole. Her eyes swam with water, but there was no questioning what she saw. Every member of the audience was bathed in their own bright shell of silver light, all under Jareth's command, and yet faintly, so faintly, their edges gleamed with gold. The swelling power inside her let go at roughly the same time as her knees did, and Sarah slumped back into her seat with her hands clasped to her mouth. “Oh, god – oh, my _god_.” The worst of her headache began to fade away, and at last she felt the warm spill of tears on her cheeks. It was just too much. “I … I don't know what's happening to me,” she whimpered.

Soft footsteps approached. When Sarah glanced up, Jareth stood above her, balanced upon the back of the next row of seats. “You overexerted yourself, that's all, love. May I?” At her weak nod, he bent down to her. He cupped her face in both hands, and Sarah moaned at the sweetness that washed over her. His fingers were gentle, his palms warm, but not even the most tender touch could explain the way her whole body gave to him, the rest of her pain spilling away with her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, but her sobs were of relief.

“You can do so, _so_ much,” he whispered down to her. “I think tonight more than proves that, but you need time. Right from the start, you've been trying to run before you've learned to walk, and that never ends well. You need to be taught how to control this, if that's what you decide you want, but there are several options here. _I_ need to know what it is that you need, just as much as you do. We need to discuss this properly; all games and overblown gestures aside, it's been a long time coming. Will you agree to meet with me now?”

Sarah blinked her groggy eyes open. “Now?”

Jareth smiled at her as he finally let her go. “Not _now_ , but tomorrow. You need to rest up tonight. Tell your friends you've taken ill, and get them to escort you home. I could do that for you, but I imagine there'll be questions you don't wish to answer if you just disappear. You can call on me tomorrow whenever you're ready.”

Silently, Sarah nodded. She watched as Jareth picked his way back to the end of the row, bare feet dodging heads and shoulders with a grace that matched any of the performers she had seen that night. Only when he dropped down into the aisle, did he look back at her.

“Sarah? It _must_ be tomorrow. I refuse to wait any longer. You've overindulged, and I know from personal experience how terrible that feels. Because of that, I'm willing to work with you as much as I can, but don't mistake compassion for lenience. I may not hold the power to reach you directly unless you reach out first, but if I haven't heard from you by midnight tomorrow, I _will_ come looking for you. I'll come Above and hunt you wherever you decide to hide from me, and this time I won't be in disguise, nor will I make any attempt to alter the memories of those around you to excuse my presence. Is that clear?”

She offered him a weak smile. “My very own Prince Charming, coming bravely to stalk me,” she slurred. “Just what every modern woman needs.” She raised a mollifying hand at him before he could retort. “Okay, okay, I get it. I feel like crap right now, but I get it. I won't keep you waiting that long. Tomorrow … tomorrow, we talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter had been knocking around at the back of my head for ages, and it's good to finally get it out. I figured Jareth hasn't had any big dance numbers or been walking on any Escher staircases lately, so he needed his big, over the top entrance (especially after that embarrassing entrance in Chapter 1!)
> 
> I may have made up a fictional Cirque du Soleil show that doesn't really fit with their 90s timeline whatsoever, but ah well. 
> 
> If you're interested in what inspired Jareth's 'entrance music', as it were, search for 'Magic Ceremony 1', or 'All Come Together' for a slightly different version in English. I prefer the first one. The real CdS show the music comes from is Amaluna. Given its themes of femininity, I figured it was a good match for Sarah as she realises just how strong she can be - even if Jareth does try to steal the show ;)


	6. An interesting evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that an update I see before me? Sorry for the wait.

Jareth awoke from the most satisfying sleep he'd had in weeks, a full hour or two later than was his habit, judging by the bright sunlight that filled his window. His rest had been deep and dreamless – a much-needed recharge after the exertions of the evening before. He eased out of bed and, gingerly at first, submitted himself to a series of slow stretches. The exercises would suffice to ease the kinks out of his body, and to bring balance back to his magical core. A sorry little smile pulled at his lips as he discovered a sharp twinge in his lower back, and he began to rub at the sore spot. If he could feel the ache of overexertion so strongly, then Sarah must have been suffering from the magical hangover from hell. He'd overdone it himself in the past, particularly in his arrogant youth, and he didn't envy poor Sarah her misery that day. Still, he thought it was a necessary evil he'd inflicted on her. Finally, he had managed to get through to her, and for better or for worse, she had agreed to meet with him. At long last, she would learn what it was they were dealing with.

After a heavy breakfast, eagerly received by his bellowing stomach, the remainder of the morning passed slowly. Cursed with the time to twiddle his thumbs and ponder, he could only guess how she would react to his news. He wasn't entirely sure he'd fully detangled his _own_ thoughts on their predicament, and the future still remained uncertain. Considering the enormity of the decision Sarah would one day have to come to, the sacrifices she would have to make and their consequences, a few measly months were nowhere near enough to have come at the problem from every angle. There were weighty decisions to be made, and he hoped that Sarah would be strong enough to shoulder the pressure. Jareth thought she would. She wasn't the type to back down without a fight. They were each as stubborn as the other, and unfortunately, that would soon lead to its own problems. At present, they hardly seemed able to spend a few minutes in one another's company without squabbling. The gods only knew where a few _years_ might take them.

The Goblin King allowed himself a smirk. He had his own ideas of where he wanted to move their budding relationship: his bedchamber, for starters. All of the hostility between them, the scowling looks and endless bickering, was building to something momentous and explosive. He could see it in her eyes; the longing that darkened her every stare and the lust that simmered just beneath her temper. She was only one little push away from unleashing it, whether that meant fucking him, or simply slapping him across the face. If he provoked her that day, Jareth fancied his chances at perhaps fifty-fifty.

It would be hard to hold his own desires in check that day, particularly since simply being in her presence temped him to misbehave. He loved making her blush, and it was probably a little shameful just how much her insults to his royal person seemed to turn him on. More than once, his mind raced ahead to the days when she would be stronger and more proficient. It was easy to picture her in the throes of deep magic, that dark hair of hers made all the richer by her new power, her pale skin all the more radiant with that previously untapped strength. He had to remind himself over and over: that day she would be his to inform and to teach – not to take. One of them would have to remain strong, at least for the time being, and it irked the Goblin King to realise that, in his position of greater power, it would have to be him. Pleasure, no matter how achingly sweet, would simply have to wait.

Intimacy between them might have been inevitable in the long run, but the two of them might have managed to tear one another's heads off long before it came to picking out curtains, or other potential domestic matters. Jareth grinned at the thought. From what he'd witnessed, the woman who once beat his labyrinth _did_ have a way of making conflict entertaining, but it would be a shame for her to miss out on something more than simply trading insults – particularly when there were far more interesting ways to pierce her with his tongue.

He wondered, and not for the first time, just how long it might take for the novelty to wear off for both of them.

It was just past midday when he first felt her, timid and exhausted, at the edge of his thoughts. ' _I'm ready_ ,' she sent to him.

Jareth frowned and marked his place in the book he was reading. _'Are you sure? You don't sound it. Have you rested at all? Eaten?'_

After a lengthy pause: ' _Sort of. And … no._ ' A weak laugh followed. ' _I didn't sleep well, and food didn't seem like a risk my stomach wanted to take today. Besides, no one ate much at breakfast anyway, when they saw how out of it I still was. When I managed to convince Kristen – my friend – that we didn't need to detour to the E.R, I think we broke all of the speed limits driving home_.' Her voice grew softer, less sturdy with every word. ' _I … I'm still pretty tired, I guess – sore all over, like I'm getting the flu or something – but I finally convinced them to leave me alone.'_

 _'Alone?'_ Jareth set his book down in his lap and raised an eyebrow.

 _'Yeah. We weren't meant to be back until later today, so I guess my family decided to go out without me. It's just me here, for now. Sitting. Feeling sorry for myself. And talking like this hurts. So … come on, let's do this before I pass out or something._ '

Jareth stifled a snort. Even if the stubborn thing _did_ keel over, she would no doubt drag herself up again, and it reminded him a little of himself. Had it really been so long ago that he had suffered his first magical hangover?

' _Eat_ ,' he told her. ' _Something warm and hearty, and drink plenty of clear liquids._ ' He couldn't keep the smile from his face when he heard her groan.

 _'Oh, god, don't be_ concerned _about me. I don't think I can handle the Goblin King worrying about my nutritional needs right now. I feel like my head's about to fall out of my ass – or my ass out of my head. I … I don't really know which way is up right now.'_

He chuckled a little. ' _Relax, precious._ _I simply want you well and alert enough to avoid having to explain everything twice while you sit there goggling at me. As I said, try to eat something. Nap a little, if you can. You shouldn't exert yourself until you have at least some of your energy back.'_

_'But-'_

_'Sarah. Your magic is untrained, you pushed yourself too hard last night, and now you're trying to run again before you can walk. Call on me again in … shall we say six hours? I promise you'll feel better for it.'_

_'Seriously? I thought you wanted to talk about … ugh, you know what? I'm too drained to argue. You're hard enough to speak to even when I_ don't _feel like I've been hit by a steamroller. I'll see you later.'_

The Goblin King chuckled as he found his page again. It was certain to be an interesting evening.

He went to great effort to set the scene, ordering his war room to be swept and mopped until its stone floors glinted in the day's last strains of sunlight. The great oaken table was polished to a high sheen, and the grand wall tapestry displaying the royal sigil had been beaten to within an inch of its life, so that not a speck of dust remained. As a finishing touch, Jareth swept a hand before him, and at once, the few torches that lined the walls flared to life. Their golden glow pushed back some of the growing gloom, but left the corners of the room steeped in shadows – a tactic he had taken to using to keep the more disagreeable dignitaries on edge when they came to visit.

Jareth considered the slightly ominous scene before him. Given the fact that he'd spent the evening prior chewing the scenery with shameless delight, it was probably best to keep theatrics to a minimum that night. Another gesture of his hand set the torches burning brighter, and he beckoned the walls around him in a little closer, halving the room's imposing size. The massive table came next, shrunk to better suit the new dimensions, but not so much as to make the room _too_ cosy. Though he wanted her on his side, he still wished his guest to be kept on her toes.

Last came the seating arrangements; Jareth felt the sting to his pride as the high-backed throne that usually served to set him above the rest of his guests became just another plain wooden chair, simple yet sturdy. Those chairs had been chosen centuries ago by his mother, who had always said that a discussion of war and peace should never be a comfortable one. It was still said that the former Goblin Queen did not consider a meeting to be a real success unless she had sent her opponent away with not a word left in argument, and a bruised backside in the bargain. Jareth did not intend to leave Sarah in quite the same level of discomfort. Hers was far too lovely a bottom to be abused, at least not without consent and the proper mood set. Besides, on that day, his arse was sure to be left as sore as hers.

It occurred to him then just how long it had been since he had last sat down with another guest as equals. Somehow, he didn't think Sarah would be appreciative of the great honour he offered her that day. Once recovered, she would be back on her guard, suspicious of even the smallest kindness. It didn't bode well for the thin hope he still held of ending their evening on much sweeter terms. Considering the gravity of what he was about to offer her, it was probably for the best.

In the end, it was closer to eight hours when Sarah came to call on him again, but she sounded better, stronger for the added rest. Even with the physical distance between them, he could feel her resolve. When asked, she expressed no concerns about meeting at the castle. Right away, she would be put at a distinct disadvantage, away from her own world. She had to understand that, and yet she accepted it; already, she believed enough in him, and in her own strength, to know that she would not be harmed, nor taken advantage of. However much she had tried his patience in the past, Jareth had to admire her for that. She reached out to him with her mind, and once more, he drew her into his domain.

Like any good strategist, he began to size up his opponent from the moment she entered the room. Her long hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, as if in preparation for battle, but the plain white blouse and black pencil skirt she wore cried business. Clearly, he wasn't the only one prepared for the inevitable negotiations. Her sensible heels tapped against the stone floor as she approached. Though his first instinct was to cast an appreciative eye over her legs, he found he was proud of her for the outward confidence of her stride, and the cool look of indifference she had fixed across her face. She had done everything within her power that day to appear ready, and yet there was obvious disquiet in the rapid blink of her eyes and the thin, pale line of her mouth. Her exhaustion showed clearly in the pallor of her cheeks, and in the bluish-grey half-moons beneath each eye. In her distracted state, she had skipped over at least two buttons at the bottom of her blouse. Jareth was careful to give no outward sign as he fixed the small oversight. Even so, he was positive he saw her falter in her stride for only the barest moment as his magic washed over her. Such perception made him long to smile, but he remained stoic.

He gestured at the chair opposite his. “Please, take a seat. Would you care for anything to drink? A serious offer this time.”

Sarah slid into her designated seat willingly enough, but the look she shot him was far from that of a gracious guest. “If you were me, and you were sitting here right now, would _you_ take even a sip of water in this place?”

In spite of himself, the Goblin King grinned. “A fair point. I can assure you, I've no intention of offering you anything I wouldn't hesitate to imbibe myself, but I won't be offended if you choose not to believe that.”

He kept his eyes on hers as, with careful strokes of his finger, he sketched a tall fountain glass into existence upon the tabletop, and then filled it to the brim with chocolate milkshake. After adding a long straw, Jareth leaned in to indulge his sweet tooth with one eyebrow raised at his guest, daring her to speak up. The thick, creamy chocolate rolled over his tongue, but it wasn't half so sweet as the look of barely concealed fury that crossed Sarah's face, before she tried so very hard to hide it. He took his time in licking his lips clean before folding his hands behind his glass.

“So,” he began. “I'd like to thank you for joining me today, and … I'd also like to apologise.” It was almost worth it for the way she rocked back in her seat. He had to bite back a chuckle as she gripped the edge of the table and fixed him with a protracted, unblinking stare.

“I'm sorry, for a minute there it sounded like you wanted to apologise.”

Jareth rolled his eyes and plucked at his straw. Already, he could see just how hard it was going to be to hold his tongue. “Don't be pert, Sarah; I'm trying to be sincere.”

“I guess that'd be a first for you, wouldn't it? Well, apologise all you want, but you're going to have to be a lot more specific about what you're apologising _for_ , after all the shit you've pulled in the past.”

“You're never one to make things easy, are you?”

“Oh, that's _real_ rich coming from you. When was the last time you tried to make things easy for me?”

“Would you like to hear my apology or not? It might be the only one you ever get.”

Sarah huffed and sat back in her chair, flapping an impatient hand at him to continue. It was hardly the simpering, doe-eyed submission he sometimes dreamed of, but it was a start. Jareth supposed that, given their history, he was lucky to have even that small concession. He took another sip of his milkshake and then began anew.

“I would like to _apologise_ for what happened last night. Everything in the past – the silly games at the park, the restaurant, the general taunting – all of those things were trivial. I won't apologise for toying with you, the same way you tried to toy with me. However, last night … the humans I manipulated at the theatre … that's the last petty display of power I'll put on that involves others. Despite what you may think of me, I'm not normally a fan of such obscene puppetry.”

Her arms had returned to their tightly-folded position, and her face retained that tense, pinched look, but there was the slightest softening of her eyes. She had at least chosen to listen to him. Jareth went on.

“This once, it served its purpose, as I wanted your attention – I needed you to understand what it is we're facing. I could have waited and hoped for the next time you'd call on me, but I'm not a patient man. You gave me an opening, and I chose to take action and make my point – something you couldn't simply brush off. If, after this, you choose to cut off contact with me again, I won't go to such drastic means to pursue you. Whatever sort of man you think I am, whatever cruelties you believe me to be capable of, I _am_ sorry for using them to get through to you … and as I can't apologise to them, I have to say as much to you. Magic of such strength should never be taken lightly, and … I'm sorry. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. You can choose to accept that or not, but my apology still stands. It won't happen again. On this, you have my word.”

Once the weight of those words were finally off his chest, he fell silent, watching as his guest absorbed them. It went against his nature to wait in discomfort for her response, and so he turned back to his drink to occupy his tongue. His ears pricked as, at long last, Sarah let out a sigh.

“All right. Apology accepted.” Her chin quivered, and her lips pulled taut, but the words continued to come, as reluctant as she so obviously was to say them. “It's … it's decent of you to take the blame for it, instead of just writing it off as another day in the life of the great Goblin King. Seriously, I mean that. I really don't like the idea of you using people as your toys like you did then. It's-” She cleared her throat and let her eyes wander from his. “As stupid as it sounds to say this when you have no problem whatsoever tormenting _me_ , I think something like that is … well, it's beneath you. I think … ah, Christ … I think you're better than that. Hey, look at that, I guess I don't think you're the absolute worst person in the world after all.”

The very idea seemed to unsettle her; she placed her hands on the table before her and seemed to search the back of each palm for answers, refusing to return his stare. Jareth sipped at his drink and said nothing. He proceeded to polish off most of the sugary treat as his now uneasy guest fidgeted in her seat, making every effort not to look him in the eye. There was great satisfaction in letting her stew in the silence this time, and yet even as he savoured her disquiet, there was equal enjoyment in simply having her to behold. As his gaze dropped to her lips, he found himself wondering again at that undeniable physical attraction between them, and just how much it was going to fuck things up.

At last, her piercing green eyes found his. “Okay, so … you said we were going to talk about my powers. How did I get them, and what am I supposed to do with them?”

Jareth allowed himself a smile. As always, her impatience to move on would play to his advantage. She had no choice but to seek out his knowledge. “I'm glad you asked. However, to give you the answers you seek, we have to delve a little further back into history.” He watched his guest carefully as he summoned a certain little red book into his hands. The pad of his thumb lingered upon the book's spine, tracing the author's name that was etched out in gold beside the title. He knew it was a different one to the woman he had once met – different to the one whose face still haunted his thoughts from time to time – and yet still he felt his stomach give that old, familiar lurch. Even now, she refused to be laid to rest. He tossed the book over to Sarah's side of the table for her inspection, noting the way her fingers instinctively stretched out towards it before they curled back into her palms.

“I've already read that thing cover to cover, more times than I can remember,” she said, and yet her gaze lingered on the familiar book. “I still remember all the words.”

“So I recall. You once used the words within it to defeat me, but it was the same book that you used to summon me in the first place. Just an ordinary storybook for an ordinary girl … but not for you. No, you believed in what you read, didn't you? You gave it the power it needed.”

Confusion creased her brow. “ _I_ gave it …? I don't-”

“You will, love. You will.” Jareth grimaced down at his glass. The milkshake had served its purpose treat and to tease, but now it coated his throat and sat uneasily in his stomach, making him feel parched. He settled for sucking at the dregs at the bottom of his glass, before pushing the thing aside entirely. He hoped that last hint of sweetness would be enough to dull the bitter tale that was to come. “It's story time again, dear Sarah, and I'm afraid it's not an entirely pleasant one. Will you allow me to tell how _The_ _Labyrinth_ came about in the first place?”

At his guest's wary nod, he began.

“The Underground is a place far beyond your mortal world and all its dreams, but once upon a time it used to be far closer to your realm – long before your time, and long before mine. Before science and logic overcame all, it was accepted that there was magic in the land, just as much as there was air and water. Before that belief began to fade, and before the drawing apart of our realms, there was talk and trade between us. For a trifle such as a kiss, or a skein of wool, or a shiny new coin, your ancestors could buy themselves a tiny piece of magic: a lucky talisman, or perhaps a simple curative potion. Of course, there were those on both sides who let their greed spoil it for the rest. There were tales told of poor elven children who knew no better, coaxed Above by promises of sweets and toys, only to be enslaved, trapped in shackles of iron by their human masters. Foolish human babes heard our music and followed it into the woods, never to be seen or heard from again. Distrust grew between us, and the stories humans told of the fair folk twisted and grew darker. Eventually, most chose not to speak of us at all.”

“The two worlds forced themselves apart, and yet there remained some ancient lines who, even to this day, choose to remember that long ago time of fellowship we once shared. They are the ones who still recite the old tales and keep our legends alive, and their belief keeps us strong. It was one of those noble few who once called on me to demand a favour – an impossibility. She asked me to take her child.”

He rubbed his fingers across his mouth as he pondered how to go on. It had been many years since he had spoken of that time to anyone; he hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult. Still, he ploughed on, staring past his guest and turning his focus to the bare wall behind her head. He did not wish to see his own disgust reflected in her eyes.

“It was a simple enough request, on its surface. I had been king for some years by then, and though a wished-away child is never an everyday occurrence, I had already witnessed several, by that point. A needy human would offer up their most treasured possession – namely, their first born – to use as barter, in order to challenge me to a game of wits and skill. The ritual was always the same. Once the right words had been uttered, my goblins would acquire the babe, while I prepared myself to greet the one who had made the wish. Only … only on that occasion, something went wrong.”

He closed his eyes only briefly, and yet the tragic events of that long-ago day still flashed behind them. “The goblins returned to me in a panic, empty-handed and babbling nonsense. In the arrogance of my youth, I was too impatient for the deal to be done, and too annoyed by their incompetence to listen to their prattling. I travelled Above, deaf to their excuses. I had no other thoughts than to put right the hash they'd made of things and to make a new deal, but …”

Jareth cleared his throat and went on. “The child who had been wished to me was dead – had been dead for some time, by the looks of her. There was not even a trace of warmth left in her tiny hand. She was … very young.” In his peripheral vision, he saw Sarah cover her mouth with both hands, and he flinched away from her dismay. “To this day, I'm not certain if the young maiden who wished her away was the babe's sister or her mother. Her grief had aged her, of that there was no doubt, but I saw an impossible youth in her eyes. There was hope there, and when she turned it on me, I knew without question what she expected of me – what she believed I was capable of.”

A deep sigh rolled up from within his chest, and he let it out slowly, leaning his elbows upon the table. He folded his hands and rested his chin atop them. “We cannot create life where it does not dwell already. We can heal, and we can preserve life even when it seems close to its end, but we cannot forge it from what is already dead. It takes far less energy for us to destroy than it does to create, and even at our most powerful, there are still heights we cannot reach. For us, death is final. I tried to explain that as gently as I could, but it was no use.”

From across the table, there came a soft sound. “Jareth …”

“Please, allow me to finish. The young woman could not understand. Her name was Trea, and the child who had died in her arms was all she had. She screeched and she wept, and she pounded at me with her fists, and when she no longer had the strength to do so, she simply sank down onto the dirt floor of her small home, and held the child against her breast. She wouldn't move, and she stopped responding to my words. All she could do was stare down at the one she had lost, and stroke her cold cheek.”

Guilt prickled along his spine, and he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I'll admit I lost my patience with her. She had grieved far past the point of sense, and there simply was no reasoning with her. I pitied her, but I was also sickened by the way she still clung to that corpse, refusing to let that little girl go, singing soothing songs and rocking a child who would never hear or feel it. I reached down and I took the child against her protests, and I carried her out into the village even as Trea screamed and swung her fists, and tried her damndest to claw out my eyes. I handed her over to the first person I saw, in the hope that they would bury her properly. Trea hardly noticed; by then, her quarrel was with me.”

“She called me child-stealer and murderer, and she vowed that one day there would be a woman who had lost everything, just like her, with powers enough to slay me where I stood. She did not have the ability to curse me, at least not in the ways of magic, but as you know, words still hold power – particularly those spoken in such passion. She made certain that everyone in her village heard her promise, that I would be found, no matter where I tried to hide, and I would be defeated. The story of the Goblin King and the one who would end him was passed down and down through the generations. It morphed over the years, as folk tales and legends are wont to do, with me always painted as the villain. I was a stealer of children, no better than those who took innocent babes from their beds in the night. As time passed, I went from a legend – something parents would warn their children of whenever they misbehaved – to nothing more than a harmless character in a story.”

He reached across the table to tap at _The Labyrinth'_ s cover. “Eventually, as tends to happen with most silly fairytales, someone thought to write it all down for another generation of children – but not without glossing over all of the grisly details, of course.”

After only a moment's hesitation, Sarah covered his hand with hers. She took him wholly by surprise, forcing him to look to her face again. He found the warmth of understanding there, as well as a certain pity that clawed at his pride, urging his body into rebellion. He didn't want her pity, and yet … the subtle pressure of her fingers as they curled around his was one he couldn't help but savour.

“You know that it wasn't your fault, right? You know there was nothing else you could have done for her?”

Those soulful eyes of hers dipped down, and they widened when she saw their joined hands. Jareth knew then that she hadn't set out to touch him. The gesture had been an instinctual one, born of that puzzling need to protect others that she possessed. In that moment, he appeared weak to her, open and vulnerable enough to _be_ one of those damnable _others_.

“I know,” he said, gruffer than intended, and slipped his hand from beneath hers. “But as _you_ know, I have a way of moulding even the most unfortunate situations to my advantage. The more people that remember and believe in me, the stronger I become, and sometimes fear can be the strongest reminder of all. If someone believes I hold a certain power, then you can be certain I'll reach out and take it. Before, whenever a child was wished away, it would be up to the wisher to try to trick me out of whatever they asked of me. When the people began to fear me, however, it made it far easier to manipulate them. They trembled in the face of my power and, as you well know, I _was_ frightening whenever I was called upon, and the challenges I laid down were dangerous. I was guaranteed to emerge victorious … at least until you came along.”

The memory of his defeat brought heat to his face, and despite his need to remain calm, he found himself scowling down at that cursed book. “No mere mortal could ever call themselves my match, until one insufferable teenage girl with a vivid imagination and a head full of dreams turned the pages of a fairytale. She believed in every word that she read, and in doing so, she granted those words power. Her will truly was as strong as the king's, because there was no doubt in her mind, and nothing to tell her that it could not be so. And when she declared her kingdom to be as great as his, and meant every last word …” His narrowed eyes met Sarah's shocked stare. “Well, what kingdom could be more of a match than my own? What tools better to run that kingdom than the power which I myself hold? Like it or not, Sarah, you made yourself my equal, with all the clout to back it up. You gave yourself the power of magic – my magic, to be precise – and I would strongly suggest that you learn to harness that power properly, before you discover just how dangerous it can be.”

Sarah shook her head. “No. That's bullshit – I never asked for that.”

Jareth heaved a sigh and made a point of studying the nails of his right hand. “Sarah always knows best, but hmm … let me see. Yes, 'will as strong' … 'kingdom as great' …” A twist of that hand brought the relevant visual to his fingertips: a crystal in which his defeat at her hands played out inside, over and over again. He held the glowing orb out for her appraisal with a sneer. “I believe you'll find that you did, love. It's _exactly_ what you asked for.”

Both of her hands came down hard upon the table. “I didn't know – how could I? Jesus, Jareth, I was a teenager, lost in some weird fantasy world, relying on some old fairy story I read. I never thought it could lead to something like this!”

“And I never thought you'd be this much trouble. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, don't you think?”

When Sarah next spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Didn't it occur to you to maybe try a little harder to beat me then? Maybe, I don't know, to use one of the fancy tricks you've shown me lately? If you'd dragged teenage me into your bathroom while you were bare-ass naked, I probably would have been too busy blushing to remember I even _had_ a brother.”

Jareth cocked an eyebrow. “Let's not forget that _you_ were the one who first started this business of peeking, sweet Sarah. You and your little exploits into my dreams.” His expression hardened. “Besides, at the time, that was my best effort.”

The aggravating woman scoffed – actually _dared_ to scoff at him. “Don't lie to me. You showed me what you were really capable of last night, and that wasn't even you at your full strength. What you did back then was nothing, in comparison. Don't try to blame me just because you're a sore loser who was phoning it in that day.”

“Phoning it-” Jareth almost choked on the words. “I can assure you, I did nothing of the sort, but perhaps you were too much of an ungrateful, self-absorbed brat at the time to realise it. Judging from your current attitude, I can see not much has changed.”

He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Yes, the woman had a way of riling him, but he prided himself on his self-control. He could feel himself losing hold of his temper, and he closed his eyes and drew in breath in an attempt to steady himself. A great sigh escaped him as he heard his guest's chair screech back from the table, and his eyes rolled open. She was already on her feet, glaring down at him.

“Sarah, do sit down.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Perhaps later. We aren't finished here.”

“As far as I'm concerned, we are. Enjoy your little pity party, and next time don't bother to invite me.”

His hands coiled into fists upon the tabletop, and he had to force them back open. “Sarah, I am asking you _nicely_ to sit down.”

“No, Jareth, I'm not going to sit down, not until you-”

With a roll of his eyes and a twitch of his fingers, he beckoned her chair closer, just enough to nudge at the backs of her knees. The movement knocked her off balance, and Sarah sank back down into her seat with a muted squawk. Without missing a beat, Jareth clasped his hands and leaned forward to address her.

“Good girl. Now-”

“Oh, so that's how we're doing things now?” Seething, Sarah regained her feet, this time shoving the chair aside. “Every time you think I step out of line, you knock me on my ass, just like back in the ballroom?”

Jareth shrugged. “I find it preferable to running away, ignoring messages, and avoiding any challenge you might encounter. Such measures wouldn't be necessary if you weren't so stubborn in the first place.”

“I _really_ hope you're not trying to blame this whole thing on me, because right now that sounds a hell of a lot like what you're doing.”

The Goblin King took a moment to consider. All it would take to defuse the situation was another apology. Two simple words, whether truly meant or not this time, would go a long way towards getting their discussion back on track. He pondered over those words, but he was already far too weary of trying to play the accommodating host that day. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the point of his chin cradled in one hand. “If the wish fits, love. Perhaps you should have been more careful in making it. Might I suggest that in future, no matter how many interesting books you might read, you don't put all of your hopes on one? You never know what dangers might lurk within the pages.”

Sarah's eyes popped wide and she brought both her hands up to her cheeks in a mockery of fear. “Oh no, not _danger_ ,” she scoffed. “I think you're forgetting all the shit you've already put me through-”

“ _At. Your. Request_.” Already discovering himself at the edge of his patience, Jareth made an effort to lower his voice. “I grow tired of having to remind you of that. You expected a cruel king, expected dangers untold, and I gave you all that was within my power.”

“And yet your powers _still_ weren't enough to beat a teenage girl.” She fixed him with a cold stare, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Why do you think that is, Goblin King?”

Jareth repressed a growl. “Because, as I have already explained, your powers are _equal to mine_. You were only a fledgeling when you came to me, but you had already given yourself the tools needed to defeat me. At the time, I didn't understand. I simply threw everything I had at my disposal at you, and still you kept coming. Even in the most trying moments of your journey, you had it fixed in your mind that you would emerge victorious, just like in the story you so loved. Words hold much power in my realm, and when you finally said yours at the end, it bound us both. It didn't even occur to me that day to try to hurt you, or even to kill you. _I_ _couldn't touch you_. Even back then, even though I didn't know it, I could never have won.” His frustration only grew in the new silence as he watched her turn the information over in her mind.

“I was only as powerful as you believed me to be, and at the time, it didn't even occur to me to question why. My powers were only as great as what you understood them to be, and as a teenage girl, you could only comprehend so much. I gave you all I had, everything within that newly limited power of mine, and didn't even think to question what had become of the rest of my strength. Do you understand? It never occurred to me that, before you came along, I could do more. Neither of us knew it that day, but I was never meant to beat you. Against someone who truly believed they could defeat me, and who had the strength and tenacity to back it up, I don't think I ever stood a chance. It really wasn't fair, Sarah – but not in the way you thought.”

Sarah looked almost deflated as she dragged her chair back under her, sitting down with a soft thump. When she gripped the table's edge, it was clear she needed the support. “So … your power … your kingdom-”

“-are also yours.” From the thin comfort of his hard chair, he offered her an exaggerated attempt at a bow. “I suppose I should say 'you're welcome', but as the gifts were entirely unintended, I'm sure you'll forgive me if I refrain. I should have realised it the moment you left my realm and yet still retained the power to remain in contact with my subjects, but I had other messes to deal with at the time. If you hadn't chosen to call upon me that … embarrassing afternoon, we might both still be none the wiser.”

His stunned guest seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear him as she muttered to herself. “I don't even know what to do with it all. I mean, Jesus, I'm still in college. I don't even know if I _want_ a kingdom. I don't even have a _house_ yet. How am I supposed to-?”

“There _is_ another choice.”

As Sarah looked on with dazed eyes, Jareth began to turn _The Labyrinth_ 's pages, until he had reached the end of the book. Once he had nothing but blank white space before him, he pushed the book back towards Sarah's hands.

“You can write another ending. You seized that magic from me, and only you have the power to give it back. Give the heroine a different ending. The Goblin King doesn't have to win, but the girl cannot take his power. Write it, _mean_ it, and if you can make yourself believe it, you can go back to the life you once knew. No more kingdom. No more magic.” His lips twitched at the corners. “No more me.” It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but he was sure he saw her eyes widen further with that last little titbit.

“So … I'd have nothing? I wouldn't even be able to call y-” Sarah scratched at her head. “You mean I wouldn't be able to call on my friends?”

Jareth shook his head. “No. You would finally be, despite all evidence to the contrary, an ordinary woman.”

“But if I want to keep my magic, I'd have to somehow rule over an entire kingdom with … with you?”

“I'm not planning on proposing if that's what concerns you, and it would require many difficult years of proper training, but for all intents and purposes, you would be queen. That would be another option, yes.”

“So there's a third option?”

A soft sigh managed to slip out. “Yes, but I wouldn't advise it. You can simply choose to accept your life as it is now, complete with never knowing what it's like to reach your full potential, searing headaches every time you choose to use your powers, unintentional appearances within my dreams, and the ability to get on one another's nerves indefinitely.” He saw the way her lips curled at that last, and shot her a hard stare. “ _Not_ recommended, love, as I won't hesitate to make the most of it, too.”

Sarah groaned. “So basically, if I want to keep my magic and not be driven crazy, I have no choice but to agree to train with you?”

“Considering _I_ didn't have a say in you sharing my powers in the first place, I'd say that's quite reasonable, wouldn't you?” Jareth smirked. “No, of course not. Nothing is ever fair in your eyes.”

The sound that came from Sarah's side of the table was near enough a growl. “There wouldn't happen to be a fourth option, would there?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“I figured as much.”

“You figured correctly.”

His guest dipped her head into her hands, and another groan emerged. “I really don't want to have to train with you.”

The woman acted like she would be the only one inconvenienced by such a mentorship, and all the time it would take out of his busy schedule. Irritation reared its head, and Jareth nudged the edge of the book against her elbows. “Then by all means, Sarah, take the first option. Depending on how quickly you write, I could have you out of my hair by the end of the week.”

“Yeah, you'd just love that, wouldn't you?”

“Unless you particularly enjoy looking a fool in public, I think you'd also find it advantageous to move quickly. If you don't, well … who's to say what other unfortunate mistakes you might make in the meantime?”

Her hands fell away from her face so quickly that Jareth started in his chair. All at once, those cold green eyes were locked on his, and they only grew darker.

“Were you at the hotel bar last night? Did you show up and then disappear again, just to fuck with me?” The abrupt change of subject threw him only slightly off-kilter, and the delay in his reply was long enough for her to notice. “Damn it, Jareth, yes or no?”

He couldn't resist a tiny smirk. “No, I wasn't technically there, but … I may have gifted you with a faint vision of me, just to stir things up. Let's call it … hmm.” He bit at the ball of his thumb as he considered. A mischievous smile curled around it. “It was a subtle reminder to put myself more firmly in your mind, allowing me to eventually appear to you in person. Think of it as just a little tap of the crop, as a gentle master might give to coax on a stubborn mare.”

Just as he had anticipated, her cool expression turned fiery. “I am _not_ your fucking _horse_ , and I am _not_ just some toy you can manipulate whenever you see fit.”

There were a hundred different ways he would have liked to manipulate her right then, most pressing of which being the urge to manoeuvre her over the very table they sat at. He could already imagine her flat out on her belly, breasts pressed down into the wood and that delectable rear of hers raised up in submission. Somehow, he didn't think that, at that moment in time, she would be agreeable to the idea. Still, it was good to see that angry fire in her eyes; gone entirely was that air of pity he had found so repulsive. That fire burned only for him as she rose to her feet again.

“Where do you think you're going?” he demanded.

“Not that it's any of your business, but I thought I'd go see my friends.” Her eyes narrowed when he scoffed at her. “Yeah, that's right, my friends – the only creatures in this goddamn place that I care about right now. You might know them; I think you might have intimidated them once or twice.”

“Sarah-”

“No. I've heard what you have to say, and I've had enough. I need to think. I need to get out of here. Frankly, Jareth, I need to see a face that doesn't irritate the shit out of me right now.”

Jareth stood, his jaw clenched tight. “I insist that you remain here until we've come to a proper agreement. I've waited long enough to have this talk with you, and I refuse to wait any longer for an answer. It doesn't have to begin today, but I need to at least know whether your intention is to hand over full rights to my kingdom, or to agreed to toe the line and hone your powers with me. This is _my_ life as well as yours, Sarah, and I refuse to be kept in the dark any longer. You must have some idea of which you'll choose.”

“Because you make it all sound _so_ easy. Choosing between Goblin King boot camp or saying goodbye to my friends forever? No thanks. I'm going to need at least a few days to think it through. Maybe even a few weeks.”

“I'm afraid that's unacceptable.”

Sarah tucked her chair underneath the table, making it clear she had no intention of staying. “Well, as unfair as it might seem, you're just going to have to accept it. I'm leaving now.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

In the blink of an eye, he was standing on her side of the table, one elbow leaned high up on the stone, effectively blocking the small gap between chairs and wall with his body. Sarah flinched, but barely; clearly, she had already anticipated his move.

“Get out of my way,” she demanded.

“I think not.”

“If you don't move, I'll move you myself.”

Jareth leaned down towards her smaller form until the tip of his nose almost touched hers, using the proximity, and the unyielding length of his body to intimidate her, just as he had in the tunnels all those years ago. The dark gleam in her eyes outmatched even the deepest oubliette. In their depths, he could see uncertainty at war with her anger, but she held herself firm, refusing to yield even a single precious inch of space to him. When he breathed warm air across that sweet, stubborn mouth, her lips parted slightly. All at once, there was heat in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his balls beginning to tighten. Allowing himself so near to her was a mistake, but one far too delicious to rectify. He remained close, and his voice rumbled out a note lower.

“Oh, love … you wouldn't dare.”

He could have delved back into history, into law and long-standing traditions, and the proper etiquette while in the presence of a king. He might have launched into a lecture about the precautions one should take when handling all otherworldly beings. There were multiple paths he might have chosen in that moment of frustration, but in Jareth's whirling mind there was only one that made any real sense: kissing her maddening mouth quiet, seizing hold of those delectable hips, and driving deep and hard into her welcoming heat. The chances of further argument seemed minimal as he pictured her quickly warming to him, yielding to him at long last as he worked her open on his rigid cock. In hindsight, the uncomfortable chair had done little to keep his spirits down, let alone certain other rapidly stiffening parts of him. Evidently, lust was a far greater opponent than he had been prepared to face.

Sarah, too, in her present mood, seemed beyond him – a challenge too great for even the most seasoned negotiator. Her face was cruel and beautiful in the tempest of her rage – the hard mask of a warrior. Her nostrils flared and her chest heaved with the force of her breathing, and those dark eyes sparked with magic and fury. So much potential and power. He wanted to punish her for that strength, to make her pay for ever daring to believe; he felt the dark urge to put her through the nearest wall, just as much as he longed to have her pressed up against it. All that anger had to go _somewhere_ , and with all the blood in his body quickly sinking south of his belt, he couldn't think of a single, sane reason why he shouldn't be the one to reap the full benefits of it.

“Now, go back to your seat, settle yourself in like a good girl, and we'll thrash this out in no time. If you behave and ask nicely, we might even have time to work out some of your other … hmm … frustrations, afterwards.”

Oh, that slight widening of her eyes was glorious. He could almost _smell_ the lust, the unbridled rage that lay simmering to perfection within that body of hers. How he longed to bend his head to her tender throat, to run his tongue across that rapid hammering of her pulse and taste the ire that soaked her skin. He wanted to lap the salt of her sweat from between her breasts as he held her, panting, beneath him, fucking his way deeper and harder into her as her body jerked and writhed in ecstasy. He knew the power that ran unchecked inside her would be far too addictive not to crave again. She was off limits until at least they had come to a decision, and yet she smelled so fucking _good_. The unsubtle throb of his now stiffening cock matched the steady tick of muscle at his jaw, and he clenched his teeth all the harder.

Her hands came up, reaching for his shoulders, and he had to stop himself from simply succumbing to her touch. “Come now, Sarah, let's just be sensible and-”

The hard shove she gave him was enough to knock the words from his lips completely. There was strength behind her hands, and to his embarrassment he found himself stumbling back a step or two. At once he retaliated, using not his palms, but his body to urge her completely off balance. He stepped deep into her space, rounding in on her so that her back was pressed into the wall. There was nowhere to go but into him. Both of them were breathing hard, and he had yet to even lay a finger on her. It was so close to what he had wanted only moments ago, that he could almost _feel_ the press of her thighs around his hips, and the clawing of her nails against his back. Fuck, he wanted her. The path of his thoughts must have shown clearly on his face, because no sooner than his lips begun to curl upwards than his seething guest sneered at him.

“Why do I _really_ not want to know what's going through your mind right now?” she snapped.

Jareth offered her a tight smirk and a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “Perhaps because you're afraid you'd like it?”

“I'd prefer it if you got the fuck out of my way.”

Jareth leaned closer still. “So move me. Go on, just give me a little shove. You've already proven you aren't shy about that.”

“You're an asshole. I don't even know why I agreed to come here today anyway, and now … what? You're expecting me to just … just …” Her words failed her, but her eyes were fixed on his mouth.

It did not surprise him to realise that he was already rock hard. “Give in? Perish the thought. No, you need someone to blame for this, don't you? Some way to go storming out of here of your own accord, in spite of your feelings, and yet still have something to lay your latest fit of pique upon. Nothing is ever your fault, is it, love? Well, if you really want me gone, you can do it yourself.”

He spread his arms, leaving himself wide open for attack. After only a moment of hesitation, Sarah brought her hands up to his chest. She shoved him again, and then again, before he could recover his balance, forcing him away from the wall and back into the hard table's edge. She came in hot pursuit, stealing his space this time, her body warm against his. The palms against his chest quickly curled into fists – fists that clung onto his shirt, keeping his body against hers.

Jareth meant only to reach out to grip her shoulder – a decent, _safe_ place to hold her at bay. He ended up with an armful of her instead, one elbow locked behind her back, his other hand darting down to grip her by the arse. He seized her, crushed her body to his tightly enough to make her seem a part of him, and stared fire down into her soul. She was light enough for him to lift her easily, and he soon reversed their positions, turning to set her down on the table top. The moment her arse hit the wood, he was on her, hiking up her skirt and pressing her knees apart, so that he could stand between her open thighs.

Though her body was as soft and warm as he had dreamed it, pliable against his own, there was not a hint of surrender in those wide green eyes. How they still burned for him. At that moment, given the chance, she would have torn him apart, and knowing it turned his throbbing cock to steel. It thrilled him to realise that she would feel it – _had_ to feel it, hot and heavy against her lower belly. Her every outraged breath was moist and hot upon his lips, and her breasts grazed against his chest. She did not back down. She would not look away.

His belly clenched with want. He could feel his pulse racing away, blood and lust and fury forging their way far ahead of his mind. All he wanted was to bury himself inside her. He smoothed his hands around her hips and downwards, until the warm, firm length of each leg lay beneath his hands, hidden from him by only the thin barrier of her pantyhose. Without quite meaning to, Jareth squeezed down, letting the pad of each thumb sink into that tender place on the inside of each thigh, just above her knees. She seemed to quiet at once, even the heavy draw of her breath stilling in the moment, and he swore he felt her shiver. She was so sweet on the precipice of pleasure, her body drawn taut with expectation and longing. He _needed_ to feel that mouth on his – to taste her anger and her longing, and the softness of her lips – but he made no move to kiss her. The decision would be hers.

“So, _Sarah_ ,” he almost snarled at her. “Precious thing – what now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested in this kind of thing, I finished off this chapter while listening to Nick Cave's phenomenal Push the Sky Away album, over and over. A lot of the tension, especially towards the end of the chapter, happened during Jubilee Street. Give it a listen :)


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